


never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck)

by spit_on_me_larry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 27 Dresses - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, Blow Jobs, Doctor Harry, Harry's obsessed with his dogs, Journalist Louis, Lazy Mornings, Louis' obsessed with his job, M/M, Minor Blood and Injury Mentions, Niall's stupid newsboy cap, Opposites Attract, Rimming, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spit_on_me_larry/pseuds/spit_on_me_larry
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is going to be the journalistic voice of his generation. He’s just waiting for his editor to realize it. For now, he’s stuck writing fluff pieces for the Life and Style section of London Now Newspaper.His latest assignment is more of the same rubbish: a profile of Harry Styles, plastic surgeon and one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Louis is intent on writing something smart and biting and unexpected; if it makes Harry look like an idiot, that’s just the price of good journalism. That is, until Louis gets to know Harry and realizes he might be kind of perfect.Featuring Louis as a writer/workaholic, Harry as a plastic surgeon with a heart of gold, Zayn and Niall as Louis’ colleagues and long-suffering best mates, and Liam as everyone’s favorite pediatric surgeon and Harry’s right-hand man.





	1. -1-

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the journalism AU that popped into my head at work a few months back and somehow ended up on paper )or rather, on AO3)! It's *vaguely* inspired by the movie 27 Dresses (like, so vaguely), but mostly came from my own, twisted imagination.
> 
> I'm thinking this will end up somewhere between 40 and 60k but honestly who the hell knows? SO. With all that said, buckle up and enjoy! And also comment because your words give me life :)
> 
> PS The title for this fic comes from the song "Fool for Love" by Lord Huron and everyone should listen to all of their music because it's amazing.

“Louis, have you finished that story on the water-skiing chimpanzee yet?”

Louis looked up from his laptop with a sigh. “Yes, James. And I can tell you right now that it’s utter shit.”

His boss rolled his eyes and huffed out a disbelieving chuckle. “Nothing you write is shit, Tommo. We both know you’re one of the best writers on staff.”

“Then why have I spent the last three years in bloody Life and Style?” Louis exclaimed, spinning around in his chair to face James Corden, the junior editor of _London Now Newspaper._

“Lou,” James sighed with the long-suffering air of a man who’d had this argument many times before. “We need your creat—,”

“You need my creative voice in the Life and Style section,” Louis recited. “I know, you’ve told me about a million times.” 

“When are you going to start believing it?” James asked.

“When you start giving me stories about things that matter!” Louis insisted, crossing his arms and giving James his best withering stare.

“You just look like a rumpled kitten when you make that face,” James said. “It’s adorable.”

Louis’ scowl deepened. “I am _not_ fucking adorable!” he groused. James just laughed and ruffled Louis’ fringe. “You are the _most_ adorable. Especially when you make the grumpy cat face.”

 

“Oh, Jesus, Lou’s doing the grumpy cat face?” a familiar grumbling voice said from the door. “What are you making him write about this time, James?” asked someone with a strong Irish accent.

Louis glared at his best friends, who had just popped their heads into his cramped office. Zayn and Niall were wearing matching, smug grins.

“I do not make a grumpy cat face! I’m going to kill Nick for coming up with that!” 

“Grimmy does talk some shit but he was spot on with that one. You’re grumpy cat, mate,” Zayn said. 

“You’d be grumpy too if you spent all day writing about water-skiing chimpanzees!” Louis huffed.

“We’re just giving the people what they want, Lou. And what they want is your smart-arsed commentary on British life and style,” James said. “Anyway, Simon’s got a new assignment for you. Wants to see you in his office after lunch.”

Louis grunted noncommittally, which made James frown in a way that looked unnatural on his round, jovial face. “Best behavior, Lou. Simon’s the editor-in-chief and he’s not as—casual as I am.”

Zayn snorted and Niall let out one of his trademark cackles. “Not as willing to put up with Louis’ bullshit, you mean,” he corrected. James’ grey-blue eyes twinkled and his lips twisted into a reluctant grin.

“Not to worry, James. I’ll be a good boy in front of Simon,” Louis assured his boss. “I always am, aren’t I?”

“Debatable,” Zayn muttered under his breath. Louis crumpled a piece of scrap paper lying on his desk and chucked it at Zayn’s head, at which point James backed out of the room, saying, “All right, children. I’m off to lunch. Try not to burn the office down while I’m gone.”

“No promises!” Louis and Niall called in unison.

 

“You’re never going to believe who I’m interviewing next week,” Niall mumbled through a mouthful of chicken salad. 

When neither Zayn nor Louis answered, he continued. “Rory fucking McIlroy!” 

The others stared at him non-plussed. “The golfer!” Niall said, rolling his eyes as if this should have been obvious. “Four-time major champion. Best Irish golfer in the world. My personal hero. Jesus, don't you people ever listen to me?"

“Nah, mate,” Zayn said "But I'm happy for you. As long as James doesn’t make me do any more sports cartoons,” he added darkly. 

“What are you working on now, then?” Louis asked. Zayn’s eyes lit up and his usually-stoic face split into an almost-manic grin. “Brexit cartoons,” he sighed happily.

“You sound dead chuffed about the worst political failure of our generation,” Louis said. 

“Makes for good satire,” Zayn shrugged.

Zayn was the newspaper’s cartoonist. He had started about six months after Louis, straight out of art school and looking for a way to pay the rent until one of his freelance projects took off. Almost three years later, his side projects were more a hobby than anything else.

Louis chewed on his chicken salad sandwich and tried not to mope. He loved his mates and he was happy that they were happy, but if he had to write one more article about a cute animal video going viral, he was going to lose it . 

As much as he enjoyed working for _London Now—_ which had earned a reputation as one of Britain’s best independent newspapers—he was eager to trade the bullshit personality pieces for real, hard-hitting political journalism. Pulitzer Prize-winning journalism. The kind of journalism that makes a difference and changes the way that people think. It was the reason he’d worked two jobs to put himself through the University of Kent’s journalism program and it was the reason he’d wanted to work for _London Now_ in the first place. Louis was convinced that if Simon would give him a chance, he could prove that he was better than what he was being assigned in Life and Style .

 

Simon Cowell was the editor-in-chief of _London Now_ and he was terrifying. He had quit his high-ranking job at _The Guardian_ to start his own newspaper and he was the entire industry knew that he was as ruthless as he was brilliant. Even Louis didn’t dare talk back to Simon Cowell, and Louis talked back to everyone.

“Sir? You wanted to see me?” Louis said, sticking his head inside Simon’s office. Simon looked up from his computer.

“Ah, Louis!  James told you that we have a new assignment for you?” Simon said.

“Yes, sir,” Louis replied, leaning against the door and retrieving his notepad from his pocket.

“This piece is different from what we’ve had you write in the past. It’s going to be a bit bigger. A bit more substance. A bit more responsibility.” 

Louis felt his heartbeat begin to speed up. This sounded like it could be what he’d been waiting for: the chance to prove to Simon and James and everyone else that he could write more than fluff pieces. He held his breath as Simon continued.

“We want you to write next month’s profile for the Influential Londoners column.” Louis knew the column that Simon was talking about; they had profiled politicians and best-selling authors and scientists and Louis could have died of happiness because this was his shot. He was going to profile one of the city’s best and brightest and write something absolutely earth-shattering.

“Who will I be profiling, sir?” Louis asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral and unaffected.

“Harry Styles. He’s one of London’s top cosmetic surgeons and he has a buzzing social media presence.”

Simon turned to his sleek silver laptop and typed furiously for a moment before spinning the screen around for Louis to see. An extremely attractive man with bottle green eyes, wavy brown hair, and a toothy grin stared back at him. The caption underneath read “Harry Styles, surgeon to the stars, uproots Los Angeles practice and takes London by storm!”

 

Louis looked up at Simon in disbelief. “We—we’re profiling a plastic surgeon? For Influential Londoners?” 

Simon nodded. “Harry’s exactly the kind of up-and-comer people want to read about. He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s at the top of his field. It’s going to be brilliant.”

“Yeah. Brilliant,” Louis echoed dully.This was not going to be brilliant. A pretty boy plastic surgeon with a popular Instagram? How was Louis supposed to find anything substantive or meaningful in _that_? 

“Right. You’ll start first thing Monday morning,” Simon continued. “You’ll be shadowing Dr. Styles at London Bridge Hospital until further notice. I’m looking forward to seeing what you do with this one, Louis.”

Louis tried to smile, hoping that it didn’t look like a grimace.  

 

“A plastic surgeon, Niall. A Motherfucking. Plastic. Surgeon.”

Louis knocked the rest of his drink back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought I was going to profile someone important. Last month Nick interviewed a member of Parliament, for fuck’s sake!”

Niall emptied his pint of Guinness and clapped Louis sympathetically on the back. 

“I’m a serious journalist, Nialler!” Louis hiccuped. “A very serious journalist! I don’t want to spend the next six weeks of my life watching some guy giving posh housewives Botox!”

Zayn set down his glass of red wine so that he could take a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s better than the article about the Cher impersonator in Surrey, innit?” he said. 

Louis pointed a menacing finger at him. “I told you never to mention that again. She ruined Cher for me.”

Niall and Zayn both dissolved into giggles. “I still haven’t forgiven James for giving me that assignment. It’s like he’s determined to take every last shred of my dignity. And my journalistic integrity!”

Niall and Zayn looked at him for a prolonged moment, turned to look at each other, and burst out laughing again. “Fuck off, the pair of you!” Louis scowled, signaling to the bartender for another round. 

  

“Seriously though, Louis. Profiling Dr. McDreamy won’t be all bad,” Niall said as the three of them stumbled out of the pub an hour later. “McDreamy my arse,” Louis grumbled.

Niall cackled. “Fuck off, mate. Zayn and I did some light Instagram stalking while you were in the loo and he’s like, exactly your type.”

“He is not my type! I don’t even have a type!” Louis sputtered.

The fact was, Louis had already conducted a hasty Google search of his own during which he had discovered that Harry Styles was exactly his type. Harry had unruly curls that cascaded almost to his broad shoulders and almond-shaped, almost-feline green eyes and a wide mouth with almost unnaturally pink lips and a long, lean body that managed to be athletic and soft at the same time. 

He would rather die than admit that to Niall and Zayn, though. “Sleazy plastic surgeons are not my type,” he said breezily. He pretended not to see the skeptical look that Niall and Zayn exchanged over his head.

 

“If you don’t like the assignment, use the assignment to write something you do like,” Zayn advised after the two of them had parted ways with Niall several minutes later. 

“Huh?” Louis grunted, snapping out of his thoughts about how lovely his bed was going to feel after this long, disappointing day.

“Use the assignment to write about something that matters. Use the Styles thing as an angle to write about healthcare inequality or summat. You’ll come up with something. You can always find a reason to be outraged.”

Louis’ face split into a huge grin. “That’s actually kind of brilliant, Zee,” he marveled. “Yeah, it is,” Zayn said as he descended the steps of his Tube station with a farewell wave. 

* * *

When Harry started at London Bridge Hospital six months ago, Liam had assured him that waking up for 7am staff meetings would get easier with time. Liam was a filthy liar.  When his phone trilled Marimba at 6 in the morning, Harry scowled and suppressed the urge to hurl it at the wall. Instead, he hit the snooze button and resumed the fetal position, curling into an even tighter ball under the fluffy white duvet. Before he could properly get back to sleep though, his phone was blaring again, this time with an incoming call.

“‘Lo?” he grumbled. 

“Get your arse out of bed, Styles! Staff meeting in 57 minutes and counting!” 

“I thought we’d established that the 6am wakeup calls weren’t allowed anymore, Liam,” Harry groused.

“That was before you slept through last week’s meeting. Now look alive. If you get up now, you still have time for a run before you get to the hospital.”

“I hate you,” Harry said sincerely as he swung both legs out of bed.

“Charming. See you in an hour."

Twenty minutes later, Harry had brushed his teeth, thrown on running shorts and a thermal shirt, scarfed a banana, and fed the dogs.  His morning routine had taken slightly longer than usual because he’d spent five hilarious minutes trying to get his chihuahua, Latte, to ride on his Great Dane, Lucy’s back. He was going to be late to the meeting now. Totally worth it.

 

As he jogged up his cobbled side street toward the River Thames, he let the crisp bite of the chilly November morning fill his lungs and seep into his bones. He ran past the thatched wooden roof of the Globe Theatre and down Bankside, relishing the sleepy emptiness of the city streets. As much as he hated getting up at the crack of dawn, he loved London early in the morning.

Harry looped down to the river and let his mind wander to the day ahead. He had the weekly staff meeting where the hospital’s chief of medicine made announcements that never really affected Harry. Then there were a couple of surgical consults later in the morning and then—Harry clenched his teeth involuntarily at the thought of it—he had to meet the journalist for the stupid  _London Now_ article.

 Harry thought back to the week before, when the chief had pulled him aside right as he was getting ready to scrub in for a particularly tricky abdominoplasty.

“Simon Cowell from  _London Now_ gave us a call and indicated that he’s extremely interested in profiling you for the paper’s Influential Londoners column,” he said,  prattling on about “excellent publicity for the hospital” and “a chance to be a spokesperson in the medical community.” Harry had beat a hasty escape, muttering that he was late for surgery. The chief hadn’t let him off that easily, sending him an email later that day saying in no uncertain terms that the article was happening whether he liked it or not.

 “They want to write a bloody article! About  _me_!” Harry had whined over pints with Liam that night. “I’m the most boring person I know, Li. Like, I spend my days playing with my dogs and doing tummy tucks!”

“Harry. You sat front row at London Fashion Week this year. You’re friends with Posh and Becks. You are not the most boring person you know,” Liam pointed out exasperatedly. 

“They should’ve picked  _you_. You literally save children’s lives all day. You’re like, a real-life superhero,” Harry grumbled.

“Well I’m not one of London’s top 10 most eligible bachelors, am I?” Liam had replied with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle, at which point Harry had groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?” he asked, trying to suppress the hot surge of embarrassment he felt whenever anyone brought up that stupid article in  _The Sun_ thatcompared him to a fine wine: “rich, a bit fruity, and probably needs to breathe for a couple of minutes after you pop his cork.”

“C’mon, Haz! It was funny!” Liam chuckled.

“It was offensive! Being bisexual doesn’t make me fruity,” Harry huffed as they settled their tabs.

 

At that, Liam stopped laughing and ruffled his hair. “The  _London Now_ article won’t be like that rubbish _,_ Hazza. They’re not a gossip rag like  _The Sun.”_

“You’re right,” Harry sighed. “I actually know one of the writers there.”

“Yeah? Maybe he’ll be the one interviewing you!” Liam said.

“Doubtful. Nick does like, political stuff, I think."

Liam draped an arm over his shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, mate. It won’t be all that bad.”

“You’re right. Sorry, just feeling a bit stroppy,” Harry said, burrowing into his friend’s shoulder. 

Liam chuckled. “S’alright. You've been putting up with my shit since uni. I can listen to a bit of whinging now and then.”

Harry’s affection for his best mate momentarily overtook his unease about the article as they left the bar and walked toward the Tube, reminiscing about uni, where they had met as lab partners in freshers bio.

 

As he slowed to a walk outside London Bridge Hospital half an hour later, wiping the sweat off his forehead and throwing his hair into a tiny bun, Harry resolved to follow Liam’s advice: answer the journalist’s questions and get on with his life as quickly as possible. It certainly wasn’t going to kill him to spend a few hours getting interviewed.

Harry headed straight to the hospital’s large meeting room for the weekly staff meeting. He was five minutes late and the meeting was dreadfully boring. He and Liam spent the entirety of it playing hangman and exchanging mutinous glances as the chief prattled on about renovations to the third floor.

As doctors and nurses trickled out of the boardroom, Harry heard the chief calling his name above the din. He sighed and trudged to the front of the room, almost positive he knew what this was about.

“You got my email about the details for your interview today?" he asked.

“Yes, sir. In the second floor boardroom at noon," Harry recited flatly.

“Right,” the chief said, looking around and lowering his voice before continuing. “Harry, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this kind of press could be very positive for the hospital. Especially since you deal with the kind of elective surgery that’s—well, that’s very profitable for us.”

Harry frowned. “Sorry, I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say,” he said slowly.

“I’m saying that you need to put your best foot forward with this, Harry. At the end of the day, the hospital is a business, and this is an important business opportunity.”

Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that it would be both inappropriate and incredibly impolite to tell his boss where he could shove his “important business opportunity.” This was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to do this stupid interview in the first place; he didn’t need free advertising for his services and he didn’t fancy being a walking billboard for the hospital.

“Right. I’ll—uh, keep that in mind,” he said brusquely. “I’ve really got to run, sir. Surgery consult in half an hour.” 

 

The rest of the morning was so busy that Harry had neither the time nor brain-space to worry any more about the article. He had a follow-up with a patient who had recently undergone rhinoplasty. From there, he met with the family of a baby girl getting ready for cleft lip and palate repair. Then his mate from residency called asking for advice about a complicated scar revision he was performing later that week.

As always, Harry got completely lost in the bustle of the hospital; checking monitors and chatting with nurses as he passed the nurse’s station and talking to patients and filling out charts. Always moving in the midst of this teeming sea of activity, like a single capillary in the vast network of the bloodstream. He loved being in the middle of it all; feeling like he had his own small place in this vast ecosystem.

Harry was so swept up in the flurry of activity that he forgot about the interview entirely until Liam asked why he wasn’t already there. Harry looked down at his phone and saw that he was already five minutes late.

“Fucking hell, you’re right!” he cursed, sprinting in the other direction without another word.

On his mad dash to the second floor conference room, he had the epiphany that he was completely unprepared for this. He had no idea what the reporter was going to ask him or what he was supposed to say or how long the interview would go. Hell, he didn’t even know who was going to be interviewing him. He was just kicking himself for not calling Nick to fish for details when he rushed into the boardroom and stopped in his tracks.

 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting the journalist from  _London Now_ to look like, but it certainly wasn’t like  _this_. The man leaning against the conference table was stunning: slight in stature with feathery, carelessly-mussed brown hair and heavy-lidded, gray-blue eyes and thin lips stretched wide in a smirk as he typed furiously on his mobile. There was just a hint of reddish brown scruff lining the angular contours of his jaw and his skin was beautifully-bronzed (which, how? It was November in London).

The man finally looked up and his eyes widened when he saw Harry standing slack-jawed in the doorway. “Oh, hullo,” he said, his voice high and a bit raspy and almost musical. Harry fumbled for something to say, but to his horror, his brain seemed to have chosen this moment to lose its grasp of the English language. The man studied Harry for several long moments before speaking again. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, from  _London Now_. I’ll be profiling you for our Influential Londoners column.”

“I—I’m late,” Harry finally blurted out. The man quirked an eyebrow and Harry scrambled to say something that actually made sense. “I mean—I’m so sorry that I’m late! Lost track of time and, uh—oh right, I haven’t introduced myself—I’m Harry. Uh, Styles. Harry Styles.”

Harry felt the urge to slam his head against the conference table when Louis Tomlinson’s mouth popped open in surprise, his sharp blue eyes twinkling with mirth and a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips. In the midst of his intense embarrassment, he still managed to appreciate that Louis Tomlinson’s laugh had the same breathy yet melodic quality as his voice.

“Right—well, it’s nice to meet you, Dr. Styles. Shall we get started?” he asked, extending his hand for Harry to shake. Harry nodded dumbly and gripped Louis’ hand, trying to ignore the heat that pooled low in his stomach at the contact.

Louis turned to retrieve his notepad from the table and Harry felt his throat go dry because holy hell, this man’s arse was insane, round and firm and complimented by thick, muscular thighs showcased sinfully in fitted black jeans. Jesus, he was  _gorgeous_. 

 

“Do you want to sit?” Louis asked after he’d settled into one of the plush swivel chairs. Harry nodded again and tried not to trip over his long limbs on the short walk across the room, a remarkably difficult feat considering his legs suddenly felt like they were made of jelly.

_“Pull it together!”_ he told himself sternly as he selected a seat across the table from Louis.  _“You are a 29 year old man!”_

“You don’t mind if I record this, do you?” Louis asked, pulling what looked like a black flash-drive out of his pocket. Harry didn’t answer because he’d just noticed the tattoos on Louis’ forearms where the sleeves of his black blazer were pushed up. There were playing card suits inked over one of his  wrists at equal intervals. Then right above that, God help him, was a skull and crossbones. Harry was maybe, quite possibly just a little bit in love.

“Um, is that a no or—?” Louis trailed off uncertainly, snapping Harry back to reality.

“Oh, right! No, that’s okay, go ahead,” Harry replied, looking down and running a hand through his hair self-consciously.

“Right then. Let’s start with the easy stuff, shall we?”

“The easy stuff?” Harry echoed.

“Your background, where you went to school, what exactly it is that you do—all the basics,” Louis rattled off.

“Right. My, um—my background. I, uh, well I’m from Cheshire. And I went to Cambridge for university. And, uh—sorry, what was the other question?”

Louis cocked his head to one side and studied Harry for a moment. Harry squirmed under the intensity of his gaze; it was like Louis was trying to read him and it was slightly disconcerting.

“Why don’t you just tell me a bit about yourself?” Louis asked after a long moment, poising his pen to the notepad and looking at Harry expectantly.

 

Harry racked his brain for something articulate and meaningful, something that would impress this beautiful, befuddling man sitting in front of him.

“I—um, I have two dogs.” Oh Jesus, he was talking about the dogs. He needed to get a grip. 

“They’re called Latte and Lucy," Harry continued, because apparently he had no control over what came out of his mouth anymore. "Latte’s a chihuahua and Lucy’s a Great Dane. Sometimes Latte rides on Lucy’s back. It’s—uh, it’s hilarious.”

Louis’ jaw actually dropped and Harry felt the overwhelming urge to jump out the window, onto the street below and out of this godforsaken conference room.

“Sorry, forget I said that,” Harry mumbled as he felt blood rush to his cheeks and stain them a deep, flushed pink.

 

“No, um—it’s okay. Why don’t you tell me about what you do here at the hospital?” Louis asked.

“Oh okay, I can do that. Um, I’m a surgeon. Which, you know that, I guess. And I specialize in cosmetic and plastic surgery. Which sounds like the same thing, but actually isn’t because like, cosmetic surgery is—um, well, it’s more focused on enhancing a patient’s appearance. And it’s like, obviously elective in nature. But with plastic surgery, you’re talking about the reconstruction of deformities, usually from trauma or birth defect. And like, there’s some overlap, but not as much as you might think. It’s quite frustrating, actually, when they get lumped together. Most surgeons actually only do one or the other, so I’m kind of unusual, doing both.”

Louis had leaned forward in his seat, scribbling furiously with a concentrated little frown on his face. Harry knew it was absurd, but he felt stupidly proud of himself for finally saying something that Louis felt was worth writing down.

 

“What’s your favorite surgery to perform?” Louis asked quickly, not looking up as he continued to write.

“Rhinoplasty,” Harry replied without a moment’s hesitation. Louis’ whole face crinkled adorably in confusion. “Rhinopl—,” he started but Harry cut in. “More commonly known as a nose job.”

Something in Louis’ face changed almost-imperceptibly; like someone had installed a dimmer switch on the light in his bright blue eyes. “Why’s that your favorite?” he asked.

“Because it’s the hardest,” Harry replied. “A bump that’s 1 millimeter high can be seen across a room, so the room for error is like, zero to none. And it’s different every time because every nose is different. Getting it right is this incredible high.”

“How often do you perform those surgeries?”

“Not too much, maybe once a month. It’s usually your run of the mill breast augmentations, liposuction, abdominoplasty or uh, tummy tuck. And all of those are pretty boring.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry realized how prattish he sounded.

“Not that I think my job’s boring,” he said quickly. “It’s nice to be able to help people fix their flaws. Make the world a bit more beautiful.”

Shit, that hadn’t come out right either. He hadn’t meant to suggest that anyone should feel the need to cover up their flaws; just that people always shone a bit brighter when they felt confident. He was about to try and explain this when Louis changed the subject, the tone of his voice a hint more clipped than it had been a moment ago.

 

Twenty minutes later, Harry felt like he was finally getting into the swing of the interview when Louis said, “Right. You know what, why don’t we call it a day? I think I’ve got enough to be getting on with for now."

“You already have enough to write the whole article?” Harry asked. 

“What?” Louis said blankly.

“Well, you just said the interview was over.”

“Right, for today,” Louis said slowly. “A piece like this usually takes several weeks. There’ll be a few interviews, speaking to your colleagues, then shadowing you as you go about your day-to-day business.”

When Harry continued to stare at him, he added, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, I kind of assumed that you knew.”

“No, it’s okay, I definitely should have known. I—uh, sorry, it all kind of came together really quickly I guess but no, yeah. No, that’s fine. That’s great. Brilliant.”

Harry was rambling. He was rambling and Louis Tomlinson was staring at him in bewilderment and the interview that he’d thought would last a couple hours was apparently going to take up the next several weeks of his life. 

Louis cleared his throat uncomfortably and pushed back his chair, tucking his notebook and recorder into a beat-up leather messenger bag.

“Right, then. I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, rustling in his bag and pulling out a business card. “Here’s my card if you have any questions.”

Then he was gone, leaving Harry to slump down in his seat and bury his head in his hands, trying to wrap his head around the last hour or so. Trying to process the fact that he was going to see Louis Tomlinson tomorrow, and every day after that for the foreseeable future.

* * *

“It was a complete and total nightmare!” Louis exclaimed, ripping a piece of naan in half, dunking it in his curry, and taking a large bite. After his hellish interview with Harry Styles, he had returned to the office to type up his notes and then roped Niall and Zayn into dinner at their favorite Indian restaurant.

“Took me like, half an hour to get anything useful out of him because he’d just ramble on about nothing every time I asked him a question. And he spent about half the interview looking at me like I had three heads! I don’t know what the fuck his problem is.”

“Surely you got some stuff you can use?” Niall asked through a mouthful of tikka masala.

Louis snorted derisively. “Yeah, he said some rubbish about his services making the world a more beautiful place.” Louis pretended to vomit over the side of the table. “Like fake boobs and liposuction makes people more worthy or valuable or something. I guess boiling people down to their tits and arse is just part of the job description.”

Zayn scowled. “Gross.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured he’d be shallow like that. I mean, he’s this attractive bloke who makes all his money exploiting women’s insecurities about their bodies. He actually said that he liked fixing people’s flaws, can you fucking believe that?”

“Sounds like you’ve found your angle, then,” said Zayn as he doodled absentmindedly on the paper tablecloth.

Niall raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Simon’ll be upset that you’re going negative? It’s not exactly your typical profile piece, is it?”

“Simon cares about selling papers and making money,” Zayn said. “As long as he thinks Lou’s article will sell, he won’t give a fuck how nice it is.”

“It’ll sell,” Louis grinned. “I’m gonna write the best bloody article Simon Cowell’s ever read. I just wish it didn’t involve spending the next month of my life cozying up to Dr. Dipshit.”

 

The truth was, a small, traitorous part of Louis was remarkably okay with spending several weeks in close proximity to Harry Styles. Harry might be shallow and slightly bizarre, but he was also one of the most beautiful men Louis had ever seen in real life.

Harry was long and lean and gifted with a lithe, intoxicatingly effortless kind of beauty. He was all flyaway curls and red, bitten lips and piercing green eyes. Plus, he had a jawline that Louis thought could maybe cut glass.

But even the jawline and the curls and the deep rasp of Harry's voice wasn't going to distract Louis from the task at hand. He was, after all, a very serious journalist. Like, the most serious. Which meant absolutely no fantasizing about Harry’s stupid wide lips or his stupid long, ring-covered fingers or how good his small, pert bum had looked in his stupid, baby blue scrubs.


	2. -2-

“Latte, move your arse!”

The chihuahua cocked her head to the side and studied Harry from her perch on the plush leather armchair.

“C’mon! Up!” Harry ordered, setting his glass of wine on the side table so he could shoo the tiny dog off his spot. Latte gave him a wounded look and scampered across the room to join Harry’s gigantic black and white spotted Great Dane, Lucy on the dog-bed in the corner.

Once he’d flopped down and taken a hearty swig of merlot, he pulled his Macbook into his lap and opened Google.

Harry definitely wasn’t stalking Louis Tomlinson. He was just learning a bit more about the person who was going to be following him around and asking him questions for the next month of his life. That was perfectly normal and not at all creepy. It was the digital age, after all. 

He typed Louis’ name into the search bar and clicked on the first link, which took him to London Now’s website. The page was a list all of the articles Louis had written for the newspaper and Harry nestled deeper into his seat, taking another sip of wine and selecting the most recent article, something about a water skiing chimpanzee in Brighton.

An hour later, Harry had read every article Louis Tomlinson had written over the past year.

It had been an accident, really. He’d just meant to check out a few of Louis’ pieces to get a sense of his writing. Almost all of the articles were human interest pieces—silly stories about British daily life.

Even though the subject matter was relatively trite, Louis was good. His writing was funny and irreverent and entertaining as hell. He managed to weave an element of insightful social commentary into his writing without being obvious or preachy.

So on top of being fit as fuck and having like, the bluest eyes and sexiest tattoos known to man, Louis was also cheeky and clever and a brilliant writer.

Harry closed his laptop with a resigned sigh. “I’m fucked,” he announced to the dogs, who looked up at him apathetically.

“Completely unhelpful, the pair of you,” he grumbled as he stood up and slouched toward the kitchen with his empty wine glass.

* * *

When Louis pushed through the heavy glass doors of London Bridge Hospital on his second day, he had to suppress an involuntary shudder at the unmistakeable hospital smell that enveloped him as soon as he stepped inside the building.

He attempted to shake off his vague sense of unease as he looked around the huge, brightly-lit lobby and tried to get his bearings. Louis hadn’t arranged to meet up with Harry Styles that day, so he figured he would poke around a bit—see if he could speak to some of Styles’ colleagues and get familiar with the building where he’d be spending much of his time for the foreseeable future.

“Tomlinson! Great to see you so soon!”

Louis turned to find the chief of medicine, who Louis had met before his interview with Harry the day before. The chief had a smug, slightly phony manner that Louis had found instantly off-putting.

Nevertheless, Louis hitched a friendly grin on his face and extended his hand for the other man to shake.

“Hullo! You don’t think you could point me towards the surgery wing?” Louis asked the chief.

“I’m headed in that direction myself, actually. I’ll walk you over,” he offered, gesturing Louis out of the lobby and toward the lifts.

“How was yesterday’s interview?” he asked as they waited for the lift to arrive.

“Excellent. Got a lot of great stuff,” Louis lied smoothly.

The chief beamed. “Dr. Styles is quite the charmer, isn’t he?” Louis suppressed an eye roll as the chief continued. “We’re so pleased to have him here at London Bridge. Half of London is queuing up for an operation with him!”

“Is that so?” Louis asked

“Yes, he’s an excellent surgeon. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s got more than a hundred thousand followers on Instagram, does it?” he said with a pompous little laugh. 

“So Dr. Styles’ public image doesn’t bother you at all?” Louis asked in a carefully neutral tone. “You don’t think it distracts from his professional credibility?”

“His professional credibility?” the chief scoffed. “It’s wonderful publicity for the hospital! Free advertising, you might even say.”

Louis had to bite back a derisive snort as he catalogued the quote in his mind for later. This “free advertising” shit was just as bad as Harry Styles bragging about “fixing people’s flaws.”

These people were tasked with saving lives, yet they were jumping at the chance to cut perfectly healthy people open if it meant making a profit. Harry Styles probably thought that this article was another bit of free advertising, another chance to pad his pockets. Well, he had another thing coming.

“Here we are,” the chief announced, clapping Louis on the shoulder. “I’ve got to run, but please let me know if you need absolutely anything!”

Louis assured the chief that he would do just that and watched as he rushed down the corridor.

“Anything I can help you find, mate?”

A stocky man with flaming red hair and bright yellow scrubs grinned at Louis from behind the desk of the nurse’s station he was standing in front of.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Louis replied. “I’m Louis Tomlinson from London Now Newspaper.”

At that, the ginger looked Louis up and down with a smirk. “You’re the journalist interviewing Harry for that article, yeah?”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Word travels fast around here, huh?”

“Hazza wouldn’t shut up about it after you left yesterday,” the man chuckled.

Louis wasn't quite sure what to make of ginger's words, or the rush of heat they sent to his cheeks.

“You know Dr. Styles, then?” he asked.

“I’m only his favorite nurse,” the man boasted, extending his hand. “Ed Sheeran, RN.” Louis grinned, relieved to finally meet someone around here who made a half-decent first impression.

“Nice to meet you, man. You wouldn’t have a moment to chat, by any chance? M’trying to talk to Dr. Styles’ colleagues, y’know, for the article.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Ed said, turning to wave over another nurse, a young woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“Pez, Harry’s journalist is here and he wants to talk to us.”

The woman’s eyes lit up as she looked up from the chart she’d been examining, staring Louis up and down appraisingly.

“Harry’s journalist? What’s he doing here?” she asked.

“Says he wants to talk about Haz. For the article.”

“If you have a moment,” Louis cut in. “I’m sure you’re quite busy, so I won’t take too much of your time.”

The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I just went on break and Ed here’s always looking for an excuse to skive off work.”

Half an hour later, Louis was sitting cross-legged in one of the nurse’s station’s swivel chairs attempting to catch crisps in his mouth as Ed lobbed them across the desk. The blonde nurse—who Louis had quickly learned was called Perrie—was attempting to distract Ed by tossing paper clips at his head.

Louis had maintained the facade of Very Serious Journalist for about 15 minutes, asking questions about Harry Styles and making notes He had learned that Harry was well-liked among doctors and staff at the hospital, and that he had quickly become one of the most sought-after cosmetic surgeons in the city since moving from Los Angeles a bit less than a year ago. He had also made a note to talk to Liam Payne, a pediatric surgeon at the hospital and Harry’s best mate since university.

Then, Ed had pulled out a packet of Louis’ favorite ketchup-flavored crisps, and he had insisted he would only share if Louis could catch a crisp in his mouth. The situation had devolved from there.

An obnoxious, tinny beeping made the three of them look up from the crisp-throwing. “Shit, that’s my pager. Liam needs me in pediatrics,” Ed said apologetically. “Lou, will you be around later?”

“Yeah, mate. You’re stuck with me for the next few weeks, I’m afraid.”

Ed grinned as he reached out to shake Louis’ hand again. “Excellent, you know where to find me,” he said before hurrying down the hallway and out of sight.

Louis turned to Perrie. “So. Tell me a bit more about Harry. Do you have any idea why he left LA?”

Perrie chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I’m not completely sure, to be honest. I think it was maybe a breakup. He doesn’t talk about it much. He’s quite private.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of surprising,” he said honestly.

“Because of the social media stuff?”

“And the famous friends. And the tabloids.”

Perrie shook her head. “That’s not Harry, though. It’s kind of like, an occupational hazard. He has a lot of high-profile clients and everyone who meets Hazza loves him. The media stuff started happening because people saw him out with these celebrities and, well, he’s quite nice to look at, isn’t he?”

“Okay,” Louis conceded, deciding not to dwell on Perrie’s last comment. “How do you think he’s been settling in since he started here?”

“Oh, it’s been great. He gets on well with pretty much everyone, and obviously his practice is doing phenomenally. Plus, he got the dogs almost right after moving back so that’s been really good for him.”

“This bloke and his fucking dogs,” Louis thought to himself, the corners of his lips quirking up without his permission. “He mentioned the dogs yesterday,” he admitted.

Perrie rolled her eyes. “Typical,” she laughed. “He’s obsessed with those dogs. They’re like, his pride and joy. Calls them his furry babies, but don’ tell him I said that, he’d be—.”

She broke off as she looked over Louis’ shoulder. “Hi, Haz. Lou and I were just talking about you.”

Louis turned and momentarily felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. Harry Styles was leaning against the nurse’s station, elbows propped on top of the desk. His long curly hair was tucked carelessly behind one ear and his eyes were gleaming a foresty green. He really was unfairly attractive. There was something both innocently boyish and lushly erotic in the way he carried himself. Like a cross between a Disney prince and a current-day Mick Jagger. It was extremely distracting.

“Morning, Pezza. How’s my favorite nurse at the hospital?” Harry said, voice just as low and slow as Louis remembered.

“What do you want now, Styles?” Perrie said, rolling her eyes

“Who says I have to want anything to come tell my friend how positively radiant she’d looking today?”

“You’re shameless,” Perrie groaned. “Seriously, what do you need?”

“For you to change the dressings on Mrs. Forster in room 306.”

“Bitchy boob job lady?” Perrie whined.

“I know she’s terrible, but you’re better than Jade at dealing with the difficult ones,” Harry said apologetically.

A pretty brunette in pastel pink scrubs turned and poked her tongue out at Harry. “I resent that!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you want to change Mrs. Forster's dressings instead?”

“Point taken,” she said, turning back to her chart.

“I’m going, I’m going. But you’ll have to entertain Lou now,” Perrie said with what Louis could have sworn was a wink.

Harry’s easy grin flickered and his cheeks went the faintest shade of pink.

“Hi, Louis. How’re you?” he asked, his voice going a bit breathless.

“I’m well, thanks. Just getting some work done for the article. Interviews and all that, y’know,” Louis replied, holding up his notepad.

“So—are you finding everything okay?” Harry said after a long and almost palpably awkward pause.

“Yeah! Yes,” Louis said quickly, grateful to have something to say. “Although we should probably talk a bit about logistics when you can.”

 “Logistics,” Harry repeated inquiringly.

Louis nodded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ll need to shadow you here at the hospital so I can get a sense of your routine, what you do everyday, that sort of thing. We might have an issue with doctor-patient confidentiality, though, so I’m not sure how we’ll work around that.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem, actually. Plastics and cosmetics are a pretty highly-publicized branch of medicine. I expect it’ll just be a matter of asking if they mind you sitting in.”

“Great. I also think we should arrange a time in the next week or so for another interview. Y’know, since I’ll probably have more questions for you as the article takes shape.”

Harry nodded. “This Friday I just have afternoon consults, so my morning is flexible. Or I’m free in the evenings after 6 or so. We could meet somewhere whenever you get off work. You could come to my place if you want. I mean—if that’s not, like weird. Not that there’s any reason that it would be weird. But like, if you weren’t comfortable with that, I’d totally understand. S’not like it really matters where we meet, right?”

When he was done rambling, Harry tugged a hand through his curls and cast his eyes downward, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Louis should have been more irritated and less charmed than he was by Harry's inane rambling.

“Relax, Harold. It’s an interview. Not a mini-holiday in the French Riviera," he said. 

“It’s Harry. Just Harry,” he mumbled, still staring down at his long fingers, which he’d intertwined in his lap.

Louis cocked an eyebrow. “You’re practically begging me to make a Harry Potter joke, mate.”

Harry’s whole face lit up in delight at that. “I love Harry Potter jokes. I actually know a bunch of really good ones."

Louis crossed both arms over his chest. “Go on, then.”

“Huh?” Harry asked, brow furrowed.

“Let’s hear one. It better be good.”

Harry ducked his head, but Louis could still see his left dimple popping as a shy grin spread over his face, accompanied by a slight flush. Louis absolutely was not in the least bit affected by the whole display.

Harry straightened up and cleared his throat, green eyes alight with mirth. “Right, then. Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”  
“You know,” Harry replied, the corners of his lips curling up.  
Louis rolled his eyes, because he knew where this was going and he was thoroughly unamused. “You know who?” he sighed

“Exactly!” Harry exclaimed as he raised an imaginary wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

“That was terrible!” Louis groaned, covering his face with both hands so Harry couldn’t see the grin stretching across his face of its own accord.

“You don’t like my Harry Potter jokes?” Harry demanded. “There must be something Ron with you!”

“The only thing Ron with me is how awful that joke was,” said Louis.

Harry gasped and clutched at his chest, eyes widening in mock-hurt.

“Does that mean you’re not going to include my brilliant Harry Potter jokes in the article?”

At the mention of the article, Louis felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He had momentarily forgotten why he was here and as soon as he remembered, he felt a tug of something like guilt.

It wasn’t that Louis was having second thoughts about the angle he was taking in the profile. It just seemed kind of shitty to joke around with Harry while he was writing this article.

Louis forced out a polite chuckle. “Not much room for that, I’m afraid,” he replied, switching over to the detached, professional tone that he’d taken in the interview the day before. Harry seemed to notice the change, because his own smile faded and his posture became the slightest bit stiffer, the set of his shoulders more rigid than it had been a moment ago.

“Right, of course,” he said. “Shall we um—set a time for that interview, then?”

 

One hour and an extremely crowded Tube ride later, Louis was back at London Now’s headquarters in Soho. He had no sooner sat down and powered up his computer when Niall poked his head in the tiny office, holding a large stack of papers in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

”James is lookin’ for ya. Think he wants to talk about the article you’re writing about Dr. McDreamy."

“There won’t be an article if I can’t sit down for long enough to write the damn thing,” Louis grumbled. “And stop calling him Dr. McDreamy,” he added as an after-thought. 

Niall rolled his eyes. “Whatever, mate. You know you’d let him operate on you any day,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“What does that even mean?” Louis laughed.

Niall shrugged. “I dunno, something dirty. Anyhow, move your arse or James’ll have mine.”

Louis heaved a great sigh and got to his feet.

“You rang?” Louis said once he’d reached James’ considerably-larger office, draping himself against the doorframe and pouting at his editor.

James waved him in. “How’s the Styles profile going?” he asked

Louis’ eyes lit up as he leaned forward in his seat. “It’s going to be killer, James. I have the perfect angle.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“I’m going to use an examination of one doctor to critique cosmetic surgery in general. Argue that it goes against the core values that the medical community is supposed to represent.”

James stared at him blankly. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, and Louis’ face fell.

“Louis. We’ve been through this before,” James sighed. “Our advertisers want fun, upbeat, colorful human interest stories opposite their products. It’s how we turn a profit.”

“So that’s what we’re about now? Making money?” Louis asked sanctimoniously.

“Get out,” James said flatly.

“There’s a story here, James!” Louis exclaimed. “This guy is practically a scam artist! But it won’t just be about him. It’ll be an incisive look at how this entire industry makes a fortune exploiting people’s deepest insecurities about their bodies!”

James gave him a withering look. “Y’know—in a fun, upbeat way,” Louis added.

“Listen, James. This is a real story. And a fucking good one at that. Let me prove it. Please.”

James studied him for a long moment before sighing deeply.

“All right. One chance,” he said, sounding like he already regretted it. Louis whooped and clapped James on the shoulder.

“You have three weeks to get it on my desk, Lou! And if Simon doesn’t like it—,” James started, but Louis cut him off.

“He will. Trust me. You won’t regret this!” he shouted over his shoulder as he hurried out of James’ office.

Louis had been typing out his notes for all of two minutes before he was interrupted again, this time by a gangly man with auburn hair and a toothy grin.

“Tommo, my man! My sources tell me that you met one Harry Styles yesterday.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother, Grimmy?” Louis asked.

“Why would I bother anyone else when it’s so fun to bother you?” said Nick.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Why do you give a shit about the Styles profile anyway? S’not much compared to your exclusive with the most important Labour Party MP in Britain.”

“Harry’s my mate,” Nick explained.

“How do you know him? You haven’t—“ he waved vaguely at Nick’s face, “—had work done, have you?

Nick burst out laughing. “Course I haven’t, you tit! We met at Fashion Week last year!”

Louis just shrugged. “Hey, you never know, mate. He’s apparently very good.”

“Speaking of which, how was the interview?”

 

“It was—okay," Louis said tactfully. "A bit of a slow start. He seemed kind of—I dunno, nervous or summat. I don’t think he’s comfortable around me.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Funny, he seemed quite taken with you when I talked to him.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Louis demanded.

He hated himself for it, but at Nick’s words, his heart started to pound and the office suddenly seemed several degrees warmer. The idea of Harry Styles being “taken with him” was intriguing in a way that Louis didn’t want to think too much about.

“He called me after your little chat yesterday.”

“And?” Louis prompted.

“And what?” Nick asked, clearly playing dumb.

“And what did he say, you great prat?”

Nick shrugged. “Seemed like you made quite the impression. He said that it was great to meet you. Asked me what you’re like, so of course I told him that you’re a right arsehole.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Takes one to know one.”

Nick ignored that. “So, what did you think of Harry?” he asked. His tone was casual but Louis didn’t miss the way that Nick was staring straight at him now, eyes scanning his face searchingly.

“Why, so you can run off and have this exact same conversation with him? You are the worst gossip I know, Grimshaw. Bloody insufferable.”

Nick waved a hand through the air. “Please. We’re journalists; we get paid to gossip.”

“We get paid to deliver unbiased information to the masses,” Louis corrected imperiously. 

“If you’re so above the gossip mill I guess you won’t care that Harry also told me he thinks you're fit,” said Nick.

Louis had absolutely no clue what to do with that bit of information, so he settled on scoffing and reaching across the desk to mess up Nick’s quiff.

“You fucking menace!” Nick sputtered, shoving a cackling Louis away from him and turning for the door.

“It looks better now! You should be thanking me!” Louis called after him.

“By the way, I’m having a thing at my flat on Saturday night and you’re coming,” Nick said on his way out of the room.

“Who says I want to spend my Saturday night with you and a bunch of your twattish friends? I see enough of you during the week.”

“C’mon, Lou! It’ll be fun. Mostly other journalism people. And my famous spiked punch."

Louis rolled his eyes. “That shit is dangerous. Now get out of my office.”

 

After Louis had typed out his notes and done some preliminary plastic surgery research, he opened Google and typed in Harry's name. He started with Instagram, where Harry did indeed have an impressive following.

Harry's profile was mostly pictures of his dogs, an admittedly very cute chihuahua-Great Dane duo. There were also several goofy photos of Harry with a handsome brunette with warm brown eyes who was tagged as @liampayno. Louis suspected that this was Harry’s friend in pediatric surgery. In one, they were wearing long, blonde wigs and in another Liam was using a lock Harry’s long hair to fashion himself a mustache. It was all a bit absurd and, if Louis was honest with himself, alarmingly endearing.

 Vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t found anything to fuel his righteous indignation, Louis navigated to the photos Harry had been tagged in by other people.

He clicked to enlarge one of the first pictures that popped up, a photo posted by an account called @ldnbasicbitches. Harry was shirtless and standing by a swimming pool, surrounded by four gorgeous blondes in matching gold bikinis. It looked like Harry had been drinking from the way his eyes were slightly glazed and a deep flush was staining the apples of his insanely high cheekbones. The two women on either side of him had grabbed his large hands and dragged them to cup their breasts. Harry obviously didn’t mind, his head thrown back in laughter.

The caption was, if anything, worse than the photo itself. “Our favorite doctor examining his favorite patients."

“Oh, gross,” Louis muttered. “You privileged, narcissistic arsehole.”

By the time Zayn poked his head in the door several minutes later, Louis was gearing up to go on a full-blown tirade.

“Zee, you’ve got to see this,” he said, motioning Zayn into the room and turning his computer around for Zayn to see.

“Ew,” Zayn said flatly. “Are you ready to go?”

“Can you fucking believe this guy?” Louis sputtered indignantly.

“Yeah, seems like a dick. Can we go now?”

Louis disregarded the question and continued. “When you see him in person, he has this fake fucking ‘aw shucks’ routine. You wouldn’t even know what a sleazy prick he is. S’disgusting.”

“Lou, I’m hungry. Can you rant over dinner?”

“I just can’t believe this guy! And then the chief of staff at his hospital has the nerve to call this shit free advertising!”

“I’m leaving now,” Zayn sighed, turning to leave.

“Oi, give me a moment! Impatient much?” Louis said, shutting off his computer and scooping his belongings into his bag.

Louis left the office more determined than ever to write a piece that exposed Harry Styles for the insincere, egotistical prick that he clearly was. If a tiny, distressingly reasonable voice in the back of his head insisted that Harry hadn’t seemed like the cocky arsehole in that picture, he stifled it at once.


	3. -3-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god, I should just never promise to update more quickly because I think it jinxes me. BUT this one is a lot longer than the others have been, and I really hope you enjoy :)) I love comments!!

Two days later, Louis started shadowing Harry at the hospital and Harry was determined not to cock things up again.  He still felt a lingering simmer of embarrassment low in his gut every time he remembered the way he’d awkwardly invited Louis to his flat.

It was just that Louis was stupidly pretty with his magnificent cheekbones and his indecently long eyelashes and his pretty pink lips that he definitely licked like, much more than the average person. That was a lot to spring on a person without any warning and Harry had been slightly overwhelmed.

But today was a new day and he was determined to show Louis that he was a completely normal person who was capable of completely normal human interaction. 

When he rounded the corner to his office, he found Louis already waiting, leaning on the locked door with one foot propped up on the wall behind him. 

Harry turned on his mega-watt smile, the one he used when he needed a favor from one of the nurses or when an attractive stranger stopped to tell him how cute his dogs were in the park.

“Hi, Louis,” he beamed, unlocking the door and ushering Louis inside.

Louis barely looked up from his notebook. “Good morning, Dr. Styles."

“Dr. Styles is a bit formal, innit? You can call me Harry,” he insisted, still dimpling aggressively in Louis’ direction. 

Louis didn’t crack a smile. “Harry, then. Shall we get started?”

“Er—yes, okay!” Harry said brightly. “I’m scrubbing in for a forehead lift this afternoon and I thought that you could watch from the gallery. But before that, I have consults and a few of the patients have already agreed to let you sit in. Nick faxed over a few of those forms you mentioned the other day—the ones where they agree to talk to you if you agree not to use their names. I had the patients sign them and now they just need your signature.”

He noted with satisfaction that Louis looked slightly taken aback but unmistakably impressed. The hour that Harry had spent researching “medical journalism” (which he hadn’t even known was a thing until 48 hours ago) had clearly paid off.

“That—uh, that sounds great, actually.”

Harry crossed both arms over his chest and fixed Louis with a cheeky grin. “You sound surprised that I actually have my shit together.”

The corners of Louis’ eyes crinkled as he finally graced Harry with a genuine smile. “Not surprised, just pleased,” he corrected. “Maybe you’re projecting and you’re the one who’s surprised that you have your shit together?”

A loud guffaw escaped Harry’s lips unbidden. “It doesn’t happen all that often, I’ll give you that,” he conceded.

Louis quirked an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if to reply, then he shut it again and looked down at the ground. When he looked up, the restrained expression had returned to his face. “We should probably get going, yeah?” he said a bit stiffly.

Harry tried not to let it faze him as he nodded with another wide grin. “Yeah, for sure! Um, I’ll just grab my lab coat and we can head to the fourth floor.”

 

“Why don’t you tell me about what we’re doing this morning?” Louis asked on their way to the pediatric wing five minutes later. 

“Sure. So, um, consults are a big part of what I do,” Harry explained eagerly. “A consult is basically where I meet with the patient before or after their surgery to talk about the procedure, answer any questions they have, measure their progress, that kind of thing. This first one is for a scar revision surgery on a burn victim tomorrow. She’s just 8 years old so one of our pediatric surgeons is going to be assisting me. You’ll meet him in a—.”

He was cut off by a loud, “Oi, Hazza! It’s a beautiful day to save lives!”

Harry rolled his eyes at the interruption. “If you don’t stop quoting _Grey’s Anatomy_ at me, we can’t be friends anymore, Li.”

Beside him, Harry heard a snort. He looked over to find Louis with his blue eyes gleaming in amusement and a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. He felt an absurd bubble of pride burst in his chest and he knew that he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t even care.

“Louis, this is Liam Payne. He’s the doctor who’s joining me on the consult in a few minutes,” Harry said, gesturing to his best friend “And Li, this is Louis Tomlinson. He’s a brilliant journalist with _London Now Newspaper._ He’s—um, interviewing me. For the profile.” 

Harry very nearly face-palmed. Why was he physically incapable of playing it even a little bit cool in Louis’ presence? God, he was so fucked.

“Anyways,” he hurried on in a slightly choked voice. “Ready for that consult?”

Liam stared at Harry like he was torn between pity and amusement. “Yeah, man. Though I just got out of an appendectomy on a 5-year old, so I’m already a bit knackered.” 

Harry winced. “Shit, I know how much of a nightmare those are,” he said.

“Why are appendectomies a nightmare?” Louis asked Liam. 

Liam shrugged. “Appendectomies are usually fine, but they’re a lot riskier with younger kids, so I always get a bit stressed when I have to do them.”

“Wow, you’ve already saved a life and it’s not even 9. Making me feel a bit inadequate, mate,” Louis said, his face crinkling into a huge grin. 

Harry felt an utterly bizarre surge of anger at the way Louis was looking at Liam, all bright and admiring. Louis had never looked at _him_ that way.  Before he had even made the decision to speak, he heard himself blurting out, “Did I tell you about that facial reconstruction I’m doing tomorrow? Really risky stuff.” 

Both Liam and Louis stared at him. “Um, yeah, Haz. Think you mentioned it,” Liam said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Do you think I could talk to you for a moment? S’about the consult.”

 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Liam elbowed Harry and hissed, “You have a massive crush on the journalist!”

“Who, Louis? I most certainly do not!” Harry sputtered.

Liam dropped his voice to imitate Harry’s low bass. “This is Louis; he’s a brilliant journalist!” he drawled, batting his eyes and pretending to swoon.

“I did not sound like that,” Harry muttered crossly.

“Hazza. You totally sounded like that.”

“I might have a bit of a thing for him. What’s the big deal?”

“This is too good,” Liam grinned.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Harry sniffed with all the dignity he could muster.

It means you've got it bad, mate. Bragging about the facial reconstruction surgery you’re doing tomorrow? That was very smooth, by the way.”

Harry glowered at him. “Fuck off. I never gave you shit when you met Sophia and you were much worse than that.”

“First of all, no one has ever been worse than that. Second of all, you gave me so much shit about Soph and we both know it.”

“I believe we have a consult to get to,” Harry said.

* * *

 As soon as Liam and Harry ducked around the corner to talk about their consult, Louis allowed himself the massive eye roll he’d been holding in for the last minute and a half. He was actually quite proud of himself for not losing it when Harry had started boasting about his “really risky” surgery. 

He shook his head and pulled out his notepad to make a few quick notes. He was still scrawling when the men reappeared.

“Sorry about that!” Harry grinned fetchingly, scrubbing a hand through his shiny brown curls. When he lifted his arm, the sleeve of his forest green scrubs rode up and Louis caught a long glimpse of tattoos and milky skin and the gentle ripple of muscle on the underside of Harry's bicep. He  sucked in a sharp breath. The tattoos and the jawline and the hair and the smile all combined for one truly unfair wallop of beauty. 

“Oh, it’s not—no worries! Not a problem at all,” he stuttered, his voice betraying him by coming out a tiny bit higher than usual. I t was just that Harry had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the sole focus of his attention and it was extremely discomfiting. 

Thankfully, Liam chose that moment to clear his throat and jolt Louis sharply back to his senses. “Shall we go, lads? Don’t want to be late and deprive Michaela of any time with her favorite person,” he said, grinning playfully at Harry. 

“Michaela’s the little girl we’re operating on,” Harry explained to Louis. “This is one of several surgeries she’s had to have for a bad burn all down her left leg, so we’ve gotten to know her family pretty well.”

 

The small single-bed room had the bleak, sterile quality that all hospital rooms seemed to share, but it also had the lived-in character of having been inhabited by one person for quite some time. There was a patchwork quilt stretched across the armchair in the corner and coloring books were strewn across the bedside table and stuffed animals littered the bed. 

A little blonde girl was propped up on a large stack of pillows chattering happily to a man and woman who Louis guessed were her mum and dad.  Her face lit up when she saw the new arrivals. “Dr. Harry! Dr. Liam!” she cried, clapping her hands together. 

Harry’s face split into a beaming smile that almost looked like it hurt his cheeks.  He crossed the room and stooped down so that he was eye-to-eye with the little girl. 

“Hi, Michaela! How’s my favorite patient doing today?”

She giggled and started telling Harry about her grandmother’s latest visit to the hospital. Harry followed along enthusiastically with her story, gasping and laughing and asking questions.

Watching Harry interact with this little girl like she was the single most important person in the world was—well, it did something to Louis. Something all fluttery and warm in the bottom of his stomach. Louis was so wrapped up in it that he didn’t notice Michaela’s parents approach him until they started speaking. 

“You must be the journalist writing about Dr. Styles,” the woman smiled warmly. Louis started before nodding and reaching out to grasp their hands in turn. 

“Yes! Louis Tomlinson. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I really appreciate you agreeing to let me observe Dr. Styles with your daughter,” he replied.

“We were thrilled when we found out that Dr. Styles was getting his own newspaper article,” Michaela’s father said. “He’s done so much for Michaela. For our whole family, actually. This is the least we could do.”

Louis was on the cusp of pulling out his notepad and asking a few questions when he heard his own name.

“Michaela, I want you to meet my friend, Louis. He’s a writer and he’s writing a story about all the fun stuff I do here at the hospital! Do you want to say hello?”

Harry grinned over his shoulder and gestured Louis over.

* * *

Harry was supposed to meet Louis at nine the next morning for their interview. Unsurprisingly, he was running late. He had taken Latte and Lucy on his run this morning and they had escaped their leads and managed to wallow in a mud puddle before Harry caught up to them. By the time he had bathed them and himself, he was slightly disgruntled and starving.

He took a slight detour from his short walk to work, stopping at his favorite bakery for breakfast and some much-needed caffeine. On a whim, he also grabbed a coffee and pastry for Louis. He reasoned that even people as beautiful as Louis needed to eat. 

He slipped into the on-call room and found Louis sitting at the small table chatting with Perrie. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that Louis was charismatic and charming and got on with literally every person at the hospital before tuning into their conversation. 

“Want some coffee, Lou?” Perrie asked from her spot by the on-call room’s tiny kitchen nook. 

“I hate coffee, especially that awful hospital cafeteria kind” Louis grimaced. 

“Oh, piss off. It’s not from the cafeteria. This is a Keurig,” she said, filling up her travel mug and whisking out of the room.  Louis rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her before turning to Harry.

“Morning, Harry. What’s all that for?” Louis asked, gesturing to the cups and paper bag in Harry’s hands.

“Oh, I—sort of brought you coffee,” Harry said awkwardly. “You don’t have to drink it, sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair. 

“No, I will,” Louis insisted, taking the paper cup from Harry and barely containing a grimace as he took a large swig. “I—uh, thanks, that’s very nice,” he said.

“I—uh, I brought you a Chelsea bun, too,” Harry said, feeling very stupid as he brandished the paper bag at Louis. What had he been thinking? He might as well have tattooed “desperate” across his forehead.

He felt marginally better when Louis’ face crinkled into a big, grateful grin. “M’starving, actually. Didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.”

He took an obscenely large bite of the pastry and moaned in satisfaction, his eyes falling shut. Harry was forced to look away in order to avoid a very awkward boner situation in the middle of the on-call room at 9 in the morning. 

“Should we get started, then?” Louis asked with his mouth still full and his cheeks bulging.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from laughing when a currant toppled out of Louis’ mouth and onto his notebook.

“Mhm,” he hummed, settling into the seat next to Louis and crossing one leg over the other.

 

“Right,” Louis said once he’d swallowed his bite of pastry and opened out his notebook. “I thought we could start with—.” He stopped speaking for a moment to cough. “Sorry, just had an itch in my throat. Anyways, I thought we could start by talking about your move from Los Angeles to—.” He was cut off by another hacking cough. “S-sorry,” he said, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

“Do you need some water?” Harry asked, hopping up from his chair to retrieve a water bottle from the fridge.

“Cheers,” Louis said, taking a large gulp then clearing his throat. “Feels like something’s caught in my throat.” He scratched at his neck, which Harry suddenly noticed had gone red with a flush that creeped upward to his cheeks.

“Louis,” Harry said slowly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“M’fine,” Louis coughed. “Just feeling a bit itchy.”

Harry’s intuition kicked in, years of medical training telling him that something was off. He suspected that the coughing indicated swollen airways and the redness was the beginning of a hives outbreak. 

“Are you having any difficulty breathing?” he asked firmly, leaning forward to look Louis in the face.

Louis nodded, his blue eyes suddenly widened in fear. “D’you know if there were any nuts in that bun?” he wheezed. 

Harry jammed his eyes shut, panic bubbling hot in his stomach. The most attractive person he had ever seen in real life was going into anaphylactic shock and it was all his fault. 

“Do you have an Epi-pen, Lou?” he asked urgently

Louis shook his head. “N-not—not with me,” he stammered wildly.

“Shh, you’re going to be fine,” Harry said reassuringly.

He rushed to the phone mounted to the wall and dialed the nurse’s station extension. “Ed, it’s Harry. Louis’ having a severe allergic reaction and I need an epinephrine shot in the on-call room right now.”

After he’d hung up, he bolted back to the table, where Louis looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. “Ed’s on the way right now. He’ll be here any moment with medicine for you,” he said, rubbing soothing circles on Louis’ back.

“H-harry, I’m like, su-super fucking allergic—.” He took a huge, wracking gasp—“to nuts.”

“Don’t try to talk, Lou. Ed’s going to get here in just a moment and then we’ll get you sorted. In the meantime, just try and breathe for me, okay?”

The next minute or so seemed to last approximately twelve years. The only sounds in the room were Louis’ increasingly-labored breathing and Harry’s whispered assurances that help was on the way.

Finally, fucking finally, Ed burst into the room. “Lou, I’ve got your Epi-pen right here, mate!”

Harry pulled his chair even closer to Louis’ and reached for his hand, which was clammy and trembling slightly. With deft fingers, he rolled up the sleeve of Louis’ jumper and rotated his arm so that the delicate skin of his inner forearm was exposed. Before he could help himself, he ghosted his fingers across a patch of exposed skin and looked straight into Louis’ face.

He momentarily lost his train of thought because he was close enough to count every single one of Louis’ eyelashes, close enough to see for the first time that Louis’ deep blue eyes actually had flecks of greenish-gold in them.

“Hazza. The epinephrine,” Ed reminded him after a moment. Which right, he was supposed to be making sure that Louis didn’t die. 

“Yeah, of course,” Harry replied, grabbing the shot from Ed’s outstretched hand and removing the plastic lid with his teeth.

“This might pinch a bit,” he told Louis. 

Louis actually rolled his eyes and gasped out, “Jus’ fucking stab me, please.” 

Harry laughed shakily as he gripped Louis’ arm tighter and pushed in the needle.

 

“I am so, so sorry,” Harry repeated for what must have been the hundredth time in the last 15 minutes.

Louis rolled his eyes but he still smiled, a mischievous little grin that made him look like the Cheshire cat. 

“We’ve been over this, Harold,” he said, his voice still raspy from all the coughing he’d been doing. It’s not your fault that I didn’t ask about nuts before I tore into the pastry. And that I’m an idiot who forgets to carry my Epi-pen with me. I have to be like, the worst allergic person in the history of allergic people.”

“I still feel awful,” Harry insisted. “If I hadn’t brought you food then the interview wouldn’t have gotten ruined.”

“The food was delicious before it restricted my airways,” Louis assured him. “And don’t think you’re getting out of the interview,” Louis added, pointing menacingly at Harry over the industrial-size water bottle that Harry had fetched and ordered him to drink. “What kind of journalist would I be if I let a little thing like anaphylactic shock get in the way of doing my job?”

“You need to rest,” Harry frowned. “This hospital’s full of beds; I wish you’d go lie—.” Louis cut him off, insisting, “I am _not_ going to go lie down. I feel completely fine! Plus, I can rest while I’m interviewing you.”

Harry crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, fixing Louis with his best withering stare. Louis widened his eyes in a way that somehow made them look even bluer than usual and he bit his bottom lip, the corners of his lips quirking up in a tiny smirk that made it seem like he knew exactly what he was doing to Harry’s resolve.

Finally, Harry huffed out a sigh. “Fine! But we’re moving to the couch so you can stretch out. And I’m calling something in for that rash on your neck.”

Louis fist-pumped in triumph and grabbed his notepad.

* * *

A weekend had hardly ever felt so well-deserved as it did by the time that evening rolled around.

Louis had just sprawled out on his bed and opened Netflix to the latest episode of _Orphan Black_ when his phone started blasting _Hungry Like the Wolf_ from somewhere across the room.

“Fucking Niall,” Louis grumbled, recognizing Niall’s ringtone at once. 

Each of his friends had his or her own ringtone in Louis’ phone, and he was extremely proud of how clever each selection was. Niall was _Hungry Like the Wolf_ because he never stopped eating _;_ Zayn was _Paint it Black_ because he was a brooding, tortured artist; and Nick was _Like A Virgin_ for the sole reason that it pissed him off.

“What do you want?” Louis asked once he’d located his phone in his jacket pocket on the sofa and pressed it to his ear.

“Is that any way to greet your best mate?” came Niall’s brash reply.

“Sorry, didn’t realize this was Zayn.”

“I haven’t put up with 15 years of your shit just to lose best mate status to Zayn," Niall replied, sounding slightly offended.

Louis made his voice high and sing-songy. “Niall Horan! Light of my life; fire of my loins! Whatever can I do for you?” he trilled.

“That’s more like it,” Niall chuckled. “Anyways, do you wanna grab a pint? I was covering this racquetball championship, but I’m done now and I’m not far from your flat.”

“I don’t wanna go outside,” Louis whined, dragging out the last syllable for emphasis. “Outside is highly over-rated. And wet. And cold.”

“Fine, brat. How about I bring beers and we can order burgers from that pub you like?”

“I think I might be in love with you,” Louis said seriously. 

Louis could practically hear Niall rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Order me that burger I always get. With the bacon and BBQ pork and shit on top.”

 

An hour later, Niall and Louis had both crammed onto the tiny couch that took up nearly all of the tiny sitting area of Louis’ tiny studio. They were recovering from a food coma induced by the positively indecent amount of greasy meat and chips they’d just consumed.

Niall let out a loud belch and stretched his legs luxuriously over Louis’ lap.

Louis scowled and pushed his friend away, flipping Niall’s stupid newsboy cap off his head. “Get off me, you animal!”

Niall just laughed and pivoted his body so that he was hanging onto Louis like a koala.

“I think I can actually smell the four different kinds of meat you just ate,” Louis remarked drily, but he made no move to extricate himself.

They spent the next hour and a half like that with Louis’ laptop between them, Great British Bake-offplaying from Netflix.

Louis started yawning after their second episode, so Niall closed the screen and turned to his friend. “Long week?” he asked sympathetically.

“You have no idea,” Louis muttered. 

“How’s the story going, then? Have you figured out how you’re going to take this guy down?”

Louis frowned, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut at Niall’s words.

“I—wouldn’t say that I’m trying to take him down,” Louis said slowly.

“No, I know that,” Niall said, his grin fading. “You just seemed really excited about the whole ‘plastic surgeons are evil’ angle the last time we talked about it.” He paused as his stomach grumbled loudly. He looked down at it and then up at Louis, who rolled his eyes incredulously. 

“You _cannot_ tell me that you’re hungry again.”

“The heart wants what it wants, mate,” Niall shrugged, heaving himself off the couch. 

“But don’t try to change the subject. You were just telling me how Dr. Feelgood’s won you over already,” he said, wandering into the kitchen and opening the fridge to look for an after-dinner snack. 

“You won’t find anything in there, mate. I haven’t been food shopping in ages. And don’t call him that; it’s fucking creepy.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t stop talking about what a slaggy player he is,” Niall pointed out.

“Oi, I never said he was a slag! I said that that picture was objectifying to women and that he embodies the privilege that wealthy, straight-presenting, white men enjoy in our society. There’s a difference.”

“And you’re back!” Niall exclaimed as he re-entered the room, having unearthed a bag of crisps from somewhere in the bowels of Louis’ kitchen. “I was starting to worry that I’d never see Grumpy Cat again.”

“Get out of my flat,” Louis deadpanned. 

“Oh, by the way, you’re going to Nick’s thing tomorrow night, aren’t you?” Niall grumbled througha mouthful of possibly-stale crisps.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“You always say that and then you always turn up,” Niall pointed out.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time. I’m exhausted and Nick’s parties are always a shit show. I woke up in the middle of the Piccadilly Circus Tube station after the last one!”

Niall hummed, obviously unconvinced.

“We both know you’re coming, mate.”

Louis ignored that. “Are you gonna bring that girl? What’s her name? Lisa? Linda?”

“Nah, mate. _Lydia_ tried to set my flat on fire. So yeah, we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Pity. She was right fit,” Louis said sympathetically. “Maybe Nick has a hot lady journalist friend we haven’t met. Or maybe Zayn’ll be feeling frisky.”

Niall rolled his eyes and kicked at Louis’ shins. “That’s not going on anymore,” he mumbled.

Louis just raised an eyebrow and made a vaguely skeptical noise. 

Niall and Zayn had been hooking up on and off for most of the three years that they’d known each other. 

Zayn was openly bisexual and liked to say that he and Niall were just having fun every once in a while.  Niall liked to say that he was straight for everyone but Zayn; or at least, he liked to say that when he was drunk off his arse and groaning to Louis about how Zayn was never going to see him as more than a friend with benefits.  Louis liked to say that the whole thing was likely to go up in flames. Then again, he figured that it was none of his business, so he tried to stay out of it.

“Anyways, I’m off,” Niall sighed, rising from the couch and retrieving his hat from where it had toppled to the floor. “Got a primary school football match to go to in Camden Town tomorrow morning.”

“Work?” Louis asked.

Niall shook his head. “Nephew. He’s starting in his first match. Can't miss that, can I?”

“Jesus, I still can’t believe Greg’s old enough to have a kid in primary school,” Louis said. “It only seems like a few years ago he was buying us our first beers in Year 10.”

“I know, man. Fucking adulthood,” Niall said with a small, rueful smile. “See you tomorrow, Tommo.”

“Yeah, probably,” Louis admitted. “Get home safe, Nialler.”

 

A bit more than 24 hours later, Louis was indeed buzzing into Nick’s apartment. He heard the thudding of a bass line and the sound of laughter a full floor before Nick’s and half-heartedly considered turning around and returning to the comfort of his bed and Netflix and delivery from the Chinese place down the block. 

That all-too-pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a throng of partygoers bustling up the stairs behind him. 

“Hey, Louis!” one of the voices called.

“Tommo! Ashton was just saying that he hoped you’d be here!” came another voice.

He grinned and turned to face Ashton and Greg, his mates from BBC Radio 1. “How’re my two favorite DJ’s?” he asked

Greg rolled his eyes. “Dude. We’ve discussed this.”

“Right,” Louis nodded. “Because being called a DJ is so offensive.”

“Yeah, we actually prefer the term ‘radio journalist,’” Ashton added, shooting Louis a sly grin.

“Mate, you take song requests,” Louis pointed out as they reached the door to Nick’s flat.

“We keep the British public up to date on the most important current events during their morning commute!” Greg insisted.

“You wear pajamas to work!”

“Yeah, and you know you’re jealous,” Ashton retorted, grin broadening as he moved closer into Louis’ space.

 

Louis returned Ashton’s smile and leaned into the warmth of his body. They had fooled around a few times after Nick’s parties and it had always been a lot of fun; Ashton was a nice guy and he was undeniably fit with his sandy blonde hair and warm hazel eyes.

“You look like you need a drink,” Ashton continued. “Want me to grab you a beer?” 

Louis hummed his assent and ten minutes later he was perched on a windowsill in one corner of the crowded living room, halfway through his first beer with Ashton standing between his legs telling him how he'd been backstage at The Arctic Monkeys’ recent London show.

“Fuck, maybe I am jealous of your job after all!” 

Ashton opened his mouth to reply but Louis was momentarily distracted by a flurry of movement over Ashton’s shoulder. He glanced up then did a double-take when he realized who had caught his attention. 

Harry Styles was here and holy mother of God, he looked incredible. If Harry was beautiful in hospital scrubs, he was sinfully and mind-numbingly gorgeous in real clothes. 

A thin, long-sleeved black tee hung perfectly over his broad shoulders, plunging low and exposing sharp collarbones inked with two small birds. His legs went on for like, three days in the clingy black jeans he was wearing. Louis reflected absently that Harry Styles was quite possibly the reason that legs were invented. 

Their eyes met and Harry’s dimples popped as his whole face melted into an easy grin. He tipped his head to one side and waved goofily, which, to Louis' dismay, caused a burst of warmth in his stomach as the the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

“Ash, I’ve just seen someone I know. I—um, I’ll find you later, yeah?” Louis heard himself murmuring in Ashton’s direction as he hopped off the window.

 

“Hullo, Louis,” Harry drawled happily when Louis had reached him. 

“Hi,” Louis exhaled shakily, still not fully recovered from the revelation that was Harry outside of his stupid baggy scrubs. “You, um—I’ve never seen you at one of Nick’s parties before,” he remarked dumbly. 

Harry shrugged and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. “Don’t usually feel like going out, I guess.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at that. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Really? So _The Sun_ was wrong about the whole eligible bachelor party animal thing?” 

Harry’s cheeks flamed and he looked down at the scuffed toes of his suede ankle boots. “Oh God, you read that article in _The Sun_?” he asked, sounding positively mortified. 

Louis kicked himself for his lack of tact. He was profiling Harry, which meant that he definitely shouldn’t be blabbing about the sources he was using for the article. Fuck, Louis was toeing a line that he didn’t understand, didn’t even want to think about. There was something about Harry that was confounding and captivating and completely disarming. Louis might be going slightly mad.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. That was really rude; it’s not my business,” Louis rushed, feeling his own cheeks going hot.

“No, it’s—you don’t have to apologize. It’s not like you wrote it,” Harry muttered, which made Louis’ insides burn unpleasantly because what he was writing was more than campy and embarrassing, wasn’t it? It was overtly critical and Harry was going to hate him in about a month. He pushed the thought away forcefully. He wasn’t even supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to give a shit what some hotshot doctor thought of him. 

That didn't change the fact that he'd suddenly been overtaken by the bizarre and overpowering urge to comfort Harry, to wrap him in his arms until he didn't look small and sad and embarrassed anymore. 

“No, I suppose I didn’t,” Louis replied at last. “And everyone knows _The Sun_ ’s just a bullshit tabloid, so you really shouldn’t feel embarrassed about it.” 

He was rewarded with Harry looking up through his lashes and positively beaming and saying, “Thanks, Lou,” in a hushed, grateful voice that made Louis’ extremities tingle.

 

A familiar voice made both of them jump. “Tommo! You found Harry!” 

Louis turned and found Nick looking between he and Harry with poorly-disguised eagerness. Louis knew that face: it was Nick’s meddling face. Nothing good ever came of Nick’s meddling face. 

He unconsciously took a step away from Harry and hitched an easy grin onto his face. “Very observant, Grimmy! Well-spotted, mate.” 

“Harry was just telling me how much he likes having you at the hospital, isn’t that right, Haz?” Nick asked, elbowing Harry with a wolfish smile.

Harry scrubbed a hand through his curls and looked up at Louis through his lashes. “I just—I told him that having you around makes things a bit more exciting,” he said almost shyly, lowering his voice and catching his bottom lip between his two front teeth for a moment.

To distract himself from the inexplicably powerful zip of arousal that had just shot through his entire body, Louis snorted out a laugh and retorted, “Right, because there’s nothing more thrilling than saving some prat from dying of a peanut allergy.”

“It’s true!” Harry exclaimed. “You can’t pay for that kind of spontaneous on-the-job training!” 

Louis couldn’t contain the bright burst of laughter that bubbled from his chest.

“Yes, I’m sure that stabbing me with an Epi-pen was a real test of your medical skills,” he deadpanned. 

Harry grinned delightedly, a smile so big that it exposed all of his teeth. Louis’ brain chose that moment to register that two of Harry’s bottom teeth were the tiniest bit crooked, one protruding a hair’s breadth past the other. He felt the mad urge to trace the defect with his tongue.

Which must have been the alcohol talking because _what the fuck, Louis?_

“Okay,” Nick interjected, drawing out the word and abruptly breaking Louis out of his thoughts. “I’m just going to leave you two here to—mingle.”

Louis didn’t even bother to try and contain his eye roll. “Very subtle, mate,” he murmured as Nick went in to clap him on the shoulder. 

“No idea what you’re on about,” Nick whispered innocently, but his smirk widened. 

He pulled back from Louis and, at a normal volume, said, “Lou, why don’t you and Hazza go grab more drinks? Looks like you’re both running low.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at Harry, who grinned and nodded, turning toward the kitchen.

“Have fun. Make good choices,” Nick trilled when Louis turned to follow him. 

“I know what you’re trying to do. S’not going to work,” Louis called over his shoulder.

Nick just threw back his head and laughed. “Shut the fuck up and go get a drink!” 

 

“What were you and Nick talking about?” Harry asked when Louis followed him into the kitchen a few moments later.

“Work stuff,” Louis replied nonchalantly. “Now, what are we drinking?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Harry said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his grin. He turned and opened a cabinet, causing his thin black henley to ride up, exposing several inches of smooth skin—dimpled lower back and slim hips with the merest suggestion of love handles, just enough soft flesh to grab onto if Louis were to slip in behind him and press himself against Harry’s perfect, muscular little bum.

Louis gradually became aware of Harry’s deep rasp as he turned back around. “Hm?” he asked, his eyes snapping up to meet Harry’s. 

He was wearing a satisfied little grin, like he knew exactly what Louis had been doing but was choosing not to call him on it. “I said that I know where Grimmy keeps the good stuff,” he said, brandishing a bottle of Tanqueray, green eyes gleaming in triumph. 

“Harold!” Louis gasped. “Are you actually suggesting that we steal alcohol from our dear friend?”

Harry actually giggled, tipping his head back against the cabinet and displaying the endless column of his long neck. Louis wanted to mark the delicate skin there, use his teeth and tongue until there were spots of angry purple and red staining the creamy alabaster. 

Louis needed a fucking drink.

“I need a fucking drink,” he announced matter-of-factly. 

“That, I can do,” Harry grinned.

* * *

It was past midnight and Harry was _buzzing._ He had been at Nick’s for the better part of three hours and he’d spent most of that time completely and utterly wrapped up in Louis Tomlinson and his beautiful, tinkling laugh and his beautiful, sky blue eyes and his beautiful, round arse. 

Harry wanted to take shots off of Louis’ arse. Was that even possible? If not, he’d settle for the tanned sliver of Louis’ gorgeous stomach that he’d seen when Louis’ thin grey jumper had ridden up earlier that night. 

Harry was definitely a little drunk. Being in close proximity to Louis made the effect of the alcohol even more potent, powerful and heady. It was just that Louis went all soft and warm and clingy when he was drinking. The professional distance that he seemed to cling to at the hospital melted away with every passing moment as he leaned into Harry’s space and burst into gin-scented giggles against Harry’s shoulder and fiddled absent-mindedly with the sleeve of Harry’s shirt as they talked about work and London and where they’d gone to university.

Unfortunately, Louis had spotted his mates from work a few minutes ago and he’d excused himself for a quick chat, smiling warmly and promising Harry that he’d see him later. So now Harry was trying not to sulk as he pretended to take part in a conversation with Nick and a couple of their mutual friends.  The problem was that Louis was extremely bloody distracting. He lit up the entire room with his bright laugh and his crinkly smile and his enthusiastic hand gestures that almost looked too big for his body.

He was talking to two blokes: a stocky man with a kind face and a bottle blonde with bright blue eyes and a booming laugh that Harry could hear from across the room. The men were leaning into Louis’ orbit just like everyone always did, hanging off his every word and laughing along with him.

After a few minutes, another man joined them, this one wiry and boyishly handsome, with dark, shaggy blonde hair.  He wrapped Louis into a tight hug and kept one hand on the small of his back after he’d pulled away. The other two men smirked at one another and turned to speak to a woman who was standing nearby, leaving Louis alone with the newcomer.

Harry felt his jaw clench as he watched the blonde whisper something in Louis’ ear and Louis tip his head back in laughter like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

He vaguely registered the sound of one of his friends saying his name. “Hm?” he hummed absently without looking away from Louis and the blonde guy.  Nick groaned when he looked over Harry’s shoulder and spotted who he was staring at. “Jesus, Haz. Stop pouting and just fucking go over there already!”

“Over where?” Harry asked.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Don’t insult my intelligence, mate. You couldn’t be any more obvious if you tried. Seriously, take this shot and go,” he said, pushing a shot glass full of unidentified amber liquid into Harry’s hand and pushing him away by the shoulders.

“You’re a terrible influence,” Harry grumbled, but he tipped back the shot and started off across the room nonetheless. 

 

“Harry!” Louis drawled happily, extricating himself from the blonde and beaming up at him. “This is Ashton! He’s a radio journalist at BBC.” To the blonde, he whispered, “See, Ash? I said it! Aren’t you proud of me?”

Ashton leaned forward to brush a strand of hair out of Louis’ face as he replied, “Yep, Lou. So proud,” with a dark, wanton expression that made Harry’s stomach contract.  Before he could register that he’d decided to do so, Harry reached out and laced an arm around Louis’ waist, tugging him closer.

Louis practically purred, his warm breath tickling Harry’s neck as he leaned in to whisper, “Someone’s feeling clingy, aren’t they?”

Harry felt his insides melt at the way Louis’ face had dissolved into a dopy grin at his touch. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Lou?” he asked. “You’re being very rude, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah!” Louis exclaimed, his eyes going wide like he’d forgotten that there was anyone else there. “Ashton, this is Harry Styles. He’s—uh, I’m writing a story about him. For work.”

“Hi, man,” Ashton said, looking between Harry and Louis with what looked like disappointment. 

_“Good,”_ Harry thought to himself with satisfaction, the alcohol and Louis’ warm, solid weight against him combining to make him feel slightly wobbly and light-headed all of a sudden.

Louis seemed to sense it and he turned to face Harry, bringing them even closer together. He brought a hand to the dip where Harry’s waist joined his hip. “You okay?” he asked, giving Harry a light, reassuring squeeze.

He nodded and tried his best for a smile that said “I’m quite sober and definitely not completely obsessed with you.”

It seemed to work because Louis grinned happily and turned to face Ashton. “I think we’re going to head out soon, Ash. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Harry made a valiant effort to get a grip on himself at Louis' casual use of the word "we" as the blonde nodded and wandered toward the kitchen.

“We’re heading out soon?” Harry asked dumbly, his heart thudding in time with the bass line of The Weeknd song that was blaring in the background.

Louis grinned mischievously and nodded.

“And where is it that we're going?" Harry asked, trying not to sound like he was about to hyperventilate.   
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were tucked into a tiny booth at the back of a deserted, slightly shabby Chinese restaurant. “These are the best dumplings in London,” Louis informed him once he’d placed their order at the counter. “And this place is open till like 3 on the weekends, so it’s basically the best drunk food ever.”

“What kind of dumplings did you get?”

“I don’t actually know,” Louis shrugged. “My mate usually orders for us, but the bloke up front recognized me and he knows our order by now. I think they’re like pork and chicken or summat.”

Harry sighed deeply and made his face fall. “That’s too bad. I’m a vegetarian.”

Louis’ eyes widened and he fish-mouthed for a moment. “Shit, I should have asked first! Uh, I can go ask if they’ve got anything you can eat.”

“Relax, Lou, I’m just having you on,” Harry grinned.

“You little shit!” Louis exclaimed, kicking Harry under the table. “That was fucking rude!”

Harry flailed his leg out to return Louis’ kick and lost his balance, nearly toppling out of the booth. Louis doubled over in laughter. “You are the biggest fucking dork I’ve ever met,” he gasped. 

Harry grinned widely. “I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” he said.

“You should,” Louis replied softly. He was still smiling but his blue-grey eyes were wide and serious.

Harry suddenly felt slightly dizzy, unable to do anything but stare back at Louis. His hand was resting between them on the table and Harry felt the overwhelming urge to grab it—lace their fingers together and lean forward until they were breathing each other’s air.

Before he could do anything though, their waiter was setting a steaming plate of dumplings between them and asking if they needed soy sauce.

 

“Those dumplings changed my life,” Harry drawled, patting his full belly with one hand and pulling the door open for Louis with the other.

“I told you they would!” Louis said happily.

“How much do I owe you?” Harry asked once they were on the street, pulling out his wallet.

Louis rolled his eyes, and pushed Harry’s hands away. “Harold, they’re like 20 pence each. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh—well thank you, then.”

Louis shook his head. “I’m just paying you back for the coffee and pastry from the other day.”

“You hate coffee and the pastry literally almost killed you,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, but you still bought them and it was very nice of you!” Louis argued.

“You’re so full of shit!” Harry laughed. Louis scowled at him, which had the effect of making him look like an adorably rumpled kitten. For some reason, Harry found it extremely amusing. He laughed so hard that he stumbled over his own feet, almost tripping off the sidewalk and into the street.

Louis grabbed his arm and hauled him back, knocking both of them into the wall of the nearest building. 

“You’re fucking clumsy, Styles,” Louis murmured, his voice huskier than it had been a moment ago. Harry just hummed and grinned down at Louis, lazily drinking in the soapy, lemony scent of Louis’ shampoo and the delicious, pink flush to his cheeks and the feeling of his soft jumper against Harry’s hands and the cool bite of the November night. 

 

Harry looped both arms around Louis’ neck and gently tangled the fingers of one hand in the soft, wispy hair at the nape of his neck. He used his short nails to just barely scratch at the skin there. 

He was so close now that he felt Louis’ breath catch infinitesimally, saw the flutter of his lashes as his eyes drifted closed for a lingering moment. 

Watching Louis’ physical response to his touch was dizzying; it was a drug and Harry was already  _addicted._ He didn’t even think about it when his fingers closed over the fine tendrils of hair and pulled backwards. It wasn’t a real tug by any means, hardly a motion at all, but Louis was so responsive that his head lolled back and his lips parted invitingly.

Harry leaned closer and tilted his head, closing his eyes as he sensed Louis moving forward to meet him halfway.

Louis’ lips were soft and yielding and perfect against his. He kissed with purpose, each drag of his lips against Harry’s full of dizzying intent.  Harry’s mouth fell open and Louis swiped his tongue gently over his bottom lip, drawing an embarrassing whimpering noise from the back of his throat. 

He felt Louis smiling against his lips and he surged forward to nip lightly at the swollen skin of Louis’ lips.

Something seemed to come loose in Louis then. He made a high, desperate noise that went straight to Harry’s dick and tightened an arm around Harry’s waist, licking inside his mouth in earnest. 

Harry responded enthusiastically, pushing Louis against the brick wall they were leaning on and mapping the inside of his mouth with gentle sweeps of his tongue. 

When Harry traced his tongue over Louis’ top row of teeth, he groaned and his hands slid down to cup Harry’s bum, hauling him closer so that Harry could feel how hard he was through his tight jeans. Harry groaned and rutted his hips shallowly, chasing some friction to relieve just a bit of the overpowering want that he felt.

At that, Louis pulled away with a gasping breath and ran a hand over his reddened, deliciously-bitten lips. “I—I can’t do this,” he stammered, eyes wide and wild and beautiful.

“What’s wrong, Lou?” Harry asked shakily, running a comforting hand up and done Louis’ arm. Louis flinched and Harry removed his hand at once, his stomach plummeting.

“It’s—sorry, it’s nothing to do with you. I just—this can never happen again,” he said, scanning the street, looking everywhere but at Harry. “I’ve, um—it’s late. I’ve got to get home.”

He ducked under Harry’s arm and a moment later, he was gone. 

 

Back in the comfort of his ratty flannel pajama pants with his favorite scented candle lit and three blankets piled on top of him, Harry allowed himself a good, self-indulgent strop as the last effects of the alcohol faded, replaced by a bone-deep sense of disappointment and embarrassment. 

Harry had been fully hard for his entire (fucking long) walk home and he’d wanked as soon as he got through the door, pushing his stupidly tight jeans around his knees and bringing himself off in mere moments to the memory of the Louis’ mouth on his. It had been a sad wank, though.

That kiss had been a really good one. A great one. Phenomenal, in fact. But Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Louis had looked at him afterwards. Like he had been splashed with cold water or had just woken up from a particularly unpleasant dream. And then there was the fact that he had literally run away from Harry. All in all, not the best response Harry had ever gotten after kissing someone he fancied.

He must have really been a mess, because Latte and Lucy both clambered onto the bed and curled into his side like they always did when he felt sad. He was convinced that they shared some kind of strange dog-owner telepathy.

“Hullo, babies,” he said with a weak smile. They both blinked up at him sympathetically and Lucy licked his chin twice. “You’re lucky you’re dogs,” Harry remarked, scratching Lucy’s head and wondering absently how awkward it was going to be seeing Louis at the hospital on Monday.


	4. -4-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took forever and for that, I am truly sorry. stick with me, I promise I'm in this one for the long haul ! hope you enjoy; leave comments !!

“Morning, Tommo!” Rise and shine, princess!”

“What the fuck’re you doing ‘ere?” Louis slurred, peeking his head out from under the duvet and scowling at Niall.

His best mate towered over him with an almost-manic grin on his face and Louis rued the day that he had given Niall a key to his flat.

“Dude. You invited me to get breakfast with you this morning.”

Louis scoffed and turned over in bed, burying his head under a pillow. “I most certainly did not,” he mumbled. 

Niall snorted. “Yes, you did, arsehole. Last night at Nick’s party. You told me, and I quote, ‘we need to talk about how fucking fantastic Harry Styles is.’ You’re proper whipped, mate.”

At the mention of Harry, Louis’ eyes shot open and his pillow tumbled off the bed as he sat bolt upright. “Shit, Niall,” he groaned. “I’m so screwed.”

Niall said nothing.

"I got drunk and kissed him like a fucking _idiot,"_ Louis whined.

Niall stared at him blankly. “I’m not seeing the problem here.”

“The problem is that I put my neck on the line convincing James to let me write this article. I can’t back out of it now.” 

“You could,” Niall said matter-of-factly. 

“Not without looking like an idiot, “Louis argued. “Plus, it’s not like I’m saying anything that’s not true,” he said defiantly, crossing his arms and glaring at Niall, daring him to argue. 

Niall put both hands in the air. “Look, mate. It’s your life. You don’t need my permission to write an article that makes this bloke look like a prat.”

“But?” Louis pressed, knowing full well that Niall wasn’t going to just leave it at that.

“But I saw you together last night. You like him, Lou.”

“I don’t _like_ him,” Louis scoffed. “He’s just—extremely fit. And funny sometimes. 

Niall raised an eyebrow at him. “Whatever you say,” he said disbelievingly. “Now, what do you want for breakfast? I’m starving.”

* * *

When Louis arrived at the hospital on Monday morning, it was with unkempt, flyaway hair and dark purple shadows under his eyes. He felt like he'd spent the entire weekend awake and writing. Sometime Saturday evening, Louis had an epiphany: he had gotten too close to Harry and it was making him mental. He needed to focus on his article and his career and his journalistic integrity. Important things; things that would still be there after the profile was published and Harry was out of his life in less than a month’s time. He was reminding himself of this for the twelfth time when he rounded a corner and collided with a tall, broad figure clad in pastel pink scrubs. 

“Oof,” Louis grunted, stumbling backwards and nearly tripping over his own feet. A pair of large, warm hands closed over his shoulders, preventing him from toppling into the wall. 

“Who’s clumsy now?” Harry asked, his dimples popping as he beamed at Louis.  When Louis had resolved to be polite yet aloof, he had evidently forgotten the way that Harry’s ridiculous dimples addled his brain. 

“I—er, good morning,” he murmured, quickly looking away because Harry's face did things to him. " Shall we, uh, get down to business?” he asked.

“Okay. Though I should warn you that it’s going to be a dull morning. I’ve got a conference call and then I have to catch up on some paperwork. I’m very boring,” Harry said with another evil, dimply smile.

“You’re not boring,” Louis scoffed. 

“I’m not?” Harry asked. 

Louis shook his head resolutely. “Absolutely not. Boring men don’t wear pink scrubs. Everyone knows that,” he said, delighting in the way that Harry’s eyes seemed to gleam extra bright as he bit down on his plump, red bottom lip and swept a hand through his chocolate brown curls.

Louis wanted to drag him into the nearest supply closet and  _wreck_ him, crowd into his space and kiss him until he was pliant and desperate and begging for it. 

_“Polite and aloof. Polite and aloof!”_ he reminded himself angrily. 

 

Despite Harry’s warning, the next several hours were decidedly un-boring. While Harry was on his conference call, Louis headed to the nurse’s station for a “follow-up interview” with Ed that was actually just the two of them bickering over Manchester United’s chances for the coming season. 

He spent the rest of the morning doing his very best to distract Harry from his paperwork by teaching him how to play paper football.  They spent the better part of an hour embroiled in a fierce championship that ended with Louis scraping out a narrow victory after a brilliant comeback.

“I haven’t gotten any work done,” Harry groaned as he tossed the paper football into the rubbish bin. “I blame you entirely.”

“You’re just pouting because you lost, mate.”

“That’s a filthy lie!” Harry retorted. 

“It is not. Y’know, for someone so nice, you really are shockingly competitive.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much, I'll work on that.”

“So—,” Louis drawled, leaning forward across the desk and gazing at Harry intently. “What do I win?”

“Win?” Harry repeated. “What—what do you want?” he asked, sounding slightly dazed all of a sudden. Louis  pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes left Harry’s face and raked slowly down his body. 

“I want,” he murmured, looking back up at Harry’s face and feeling his breath catch as he saw the way Harry was staring at him now—wild eyes, eager and expectant. “Uh, I want,” he repeated absently.

“Yeah?” Harry breathed, leaning forward. The movement caused a folder to topple off of Harry’s desk and onto the floor, returning Louis to his senses.  
“Lunch!” he blurted out loudly. “You can—uh, buy my lunch in the cafeteria! Are you hungry? M’starving."

Harry blinked. “Y-yeah,” he stammered.

 

“Just admit it, Lou,” Harry said as they set off down the hall toward the cafeteria.

“Admit what, exactly?”

“That you were trying to sabotage my productivity this morning.” Their elbows bumped and Harry leaned into the accidental contact and it was so comfortable and trusting and Louis felt something coming loose in his chest. 

“It was payback,” Louis retorted, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he was so completely and utterly fucked. “After all, you did try to poison me with a breakfast bun last week.”

“That reminds me—how’s the injection site from that epinephrine shot healing up?” Harry asked.

“S’been gone for two days now. Wasn’t exactly a stab wound was it, Harold?”

“I should still check on it. Just to make sure,” Harry said, crossing both hands over his chest and grinning widely. “I am a professional, after all.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but he stopped walking and allowed Harry to take hold of his arm and carefully roll up the right sleeve of his blazer. His skin tingled where Harry’s fingers brushed his skin and he realized that he was holding his breath.

 

There was a rustling behind them and Louis looked up to see Zayn of all people standing in the hallway, clutching a paper bag and two drinks and looking between them suspiciously. 

Louis suddenly felt flushed and slightly sweaty and extremely flustered. He jerked his hand away, took a jumpy step back, and pasted a possibly manic grin on his face.

“Hi, babe!” he blurted out which, what the fuck; he had definitely never called Zayn “babe” in the almost three years they had known each other. 

“Hello, darling,” Zayn replied without missing a beat. When he looked at Louis, his amber eyes were gleaming. He was clearly enjoying Louis’ gradual descent into madness, so that was just splendid. 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asked, acutely aware of the slightly breathless quality of his voice.

“Was in the neighborhood. Brought you lunch,” Zayn shrugged. “Kebabs from that place you like.”

Louis snatched the bag from Zayn’s hand and inhaled the odor of lamb and garlic and spices. “I love you,” he said fondly, reaching up to ruffle the soft spikes of Zayn’s hair.  Zayn arched an eyebrow and Louis withdrew his hand because, once again, he’d realized that he was being weirdly touchy and affectionate. He felt itchy and embarrassed and slightly nauseous. 

He chalked it up to the distinct feeling that his worlds were colliding and also the fact that he’d been turned on all morning long because Harry was so goddamn fit.  Which reminded Louis that Harry was still there, standing off to the side and staring fixedly at his phone. Louis realized that he was being extremely rude.

“Right, sorry! Zee, this is Harry Styles. Y’know, this month’s Influential Londoner. And Harry, this is Zayn Malik. He does cartoons for the newspaper.”

Zayn nodded at Harry. “Hey, man. Lou hasn’t been able to shut up about your profile,” he said.

Harry looked as uncomfortable as Louis felt. “That’s—uh, great. S’nice to meet you,” he muttered. 

He turned to Louis, lips pursed and gaze fixed slightly above Louis’ head. 

“Lou, I’m just gonna go—uh, grab some lunch and then get ready for my surgery."

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat with us?” Louis asked, leaning into Zayn’s side and looking up at Harry earnestly, trying to catch his eye.  Harry shook his head, still not looking at him. 

“No, you two enjoy your lunch,” he said, starting to back away. “I’ll, er—I’ll see you tomorrow, Louis. It was—um, nice to meet you,” he added with a weak nod in Zayn’s direction. Then he was gone, around the corner before Louis could call out his own farewell.

 

“Babe?” Zayn asked as soon as Harry was out of sight. Louis just glowered at him. “Oh, sod off. It just slipped out.”

“Whatever you say, Boo Bear.”

Louis buried his head in his hands. “Please stop.”

Zayn examined Louis critically for a long moment before saying, “M’not sure why you’re acting like we’re dating in front of the guy you’re fucking. But then again, I’ve never pretended to understand the way your mind works.” 

Louis opened his mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was an indignant huff.

“I—,” he faltered. “We are not fucking! What are you on about?”

“Oh, Louis,” Zayn said, sounding slightly pitying.

* * *

Harry was an idiot. A bumbling, moronic, stupid _idiot._ Louis had a boyfriend. An insanely fit boyfriend with smoldering brown eyes and full, pouty lips and a vintage leather jacket. And his name was _Zayn Malik,_ which just sounded sexy and mysterious and exotic.

Harry should have known, was the thing. It suddenly made sense why Louis had been so weird on Saturday. After Harry had flirted shamelessly all night and then kissed him.  His whole body prickled with an unusual combination of arousal and embarrassment at the memory. 

 

He allowed himself the entire evening to mope, ordering greasy takeaway and watching bad telly with the dogs curled on either side of him and finishing an entire bottle of wine by himself.

He miserably pictured Louis curled into Zayn’s side on their sofa, saying, _“You should have seen him mooning over me. It was pathetic,”_ then the two of them laughing at what an obviously smitten idiot Harry was. 

“Imagine the headline that _The Sun_ would write about this,” a slightly tipsy Harry declared to the dogs and the room at large. “Party animal plastic surgeon Harry Styles pouts over unrequited crush, is completely pathetic.”

“You’ve literally got to stop talking to your dogs, Hazza,” a voice remarked from the front door. Harry yelped and toppled off the couch, landing on the hardwood floor in a cursing, rumpled heap. 

“Fuck, Liam! You scared the shit out of me!” 

Liam just snorted and disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to raid Harry’s fridge. By the time Harry had regained his composure enough to stand up, dust himself off, and join Liam in the kitchen, his friend was eating his leftover pad thai straight out of the container.

“Did you just get off?” Harry asked, noting Liam’s scrubs and the dark circles under his eyes.

Liam nodded. “Emergency surgery on a six-month old with an arrhythmia,” he said with the weary tone that he always used when a surgery hadn't gone well. Harry pressed a cheek to his shoulder and patted him on the back. “You’re an incredible doctor, Lima. The best.”

“Thanks, H,” he mumbled gratefully.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home with Sophia?” Harry asked as he stole a bite of pad thai from Liam’s fork. 

“Just stopping by on my way home. Was wondering if you might fancy a run tomorrow morning, so I figured I’d pop in and ask.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, they’ve invented these incredible machines that let you talk to someone without having to go all the way to their house. They’re called mobile phones. They’re really incredible.

Liam rolled his eyes and shoved Harry’s head off of his shoulder. “I also brought you a banoffee pie, arsehole.”

Harry whooped and planted a wet kiss on Liam’s cheek. “Liam James Payne, you wonderful bastard! I knew I should have made an honest man of you before Soph took my chance!”

“I fucking hate you,” Liam grumbled, but Harry could tell that he was trying not to smile. He was hit with a sudden wave of almost-overwhelming affection for his best mate, who had just done a complicated and dangerous surgery on an infant, but had still taken the time and energy to bring Harry pie because he’d had a bad day.

Harry felt unworthy and a little weepy but mostly extremely grateful. “You love me,” Harry beamed as he popped the lid off of the plastic container housing his pie. “Remember that time in uni when we got stoned and you told me that we’d be soulmates if you weren’t straight?”

“You said you’d stop bringing that up!” Liam cried indignantly. 

“I said no such thing!” Harry laughed, shoving a huge spoonful of pie into his mouth and feeling his spirits rising marginally.

* * *

It was Tuesday morning and Louis had just gotten out of the shower and was shaving when the blaring of his phone caused him to jump, dragging the sharp edge of his razor down his cheek. “Buggering shit,” Louis hissed, wiping aside a wide stripe of crimson. “Looks like I’ve been in a bloody knife fight.” Into the phone, he said, “Hullo, Louis Tomlinson speaking,” in the most polite tone he could manage with blood running down his face.

“Tommo! How the hell are you, mate?”

Louis grinned at the familiar voice. “Stanley Lucas, as I live and breathe! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Stan was a friend from back home in Doncaster who had studied medicine at uni and spent the last year or so doing cancer research at a hospital in East London. 

“I heard through the grapevine that you’re writing a big article on a certain plastic surgeon over at London Bridge Hospital,” Stan said. 

“Oh bloody hell, you’re not telling me that you know him too?” Louis said, his grin widening as that familiarly pleasant tingle exploded in his chest, the way it always did when he thought about Harry. 

“Not personally. But I’m sure you’ve figured out that he has quite the reputation here in London.”

“Er—yeah,” Louis said vaguely, not sure which direction Stan was going with this.

“Listen, mate. I have some information that I think might be—um, helpful to you.”

“Oh? What kind of information?” Louis asked, feeling his heart beginning to thud harder in his chest.

“I’d rather meet in person if that’s all right with you. But I’ll just say that—well, Harry Styles isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks he is.”

Louis dazedly agreed to meet Stan in the East End that afternoon and rung off, feeling faintly queasy. 

 

He was 5 minutes early to the cramped coffee shop off of Brick Lane, and had already ordered a tea and settled into an armchair in the corner by the time Stan bustled in and gave him a harried wave.

“Stan!” Louis beamed, standing up to clap his friend on the back and gesture him into a chair. “How’ve you been, mate? S’been too long.” 

Stan nodded his agreement. 

“All I do is work nowadays,” he said. “Turns out cancer research is a pretty tireless line of work, believe it or not.”

Louis chuckled. “No kidding. Can I buy you a coffee or something?”

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry. I’m on me lunch break now and I’ve got to be back at the hospital in half an hour.”

“Let’s get right to it, then,” Louis suggested, pulling the notepad from his bag. “You said that you wanted to talk about Harry Styles?”

Stan nodded, and Louis noted the way that his smile tightened. “When I heard it was you that was interviewing him, I felt like I had to reach out. To make sure you knew how he got that job at London Bridge.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that his working there has taken millions of pounds from cancer research funding,” Stan said hotly, his eyes flashing. 

“How—what does cancer research have to do with Harry’s job?” Louis asked blankly.

“Last year, London Bridge announced that it was going to expand its cancer research center—buy new equipment, bring in a new researcher, that kind of thing. It would have been a huge deal. But then they found out that Harry Styles was thinking about relocating his practice from Los Angeles to London, and the medical director lobbied this huge campaign to use the cancer research money to offer him a huge salary and develop their plastic surgery wing. So the board of directors took a vote, and they killed the research grant. Just so they could pad their own pockets. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how profitable plastics is. And now they have Styles as their little spokesman, so I’m sure they’re pleased about that as well, now that he’s such a celebrity.”

“Are—are you sure that Harry knew about it?” Louis asked hollowly, assuring himself that this had to be some kind of mistake. The Harry that he’d been shadowing for two weeks couldn’t possibly have taken a job knowing that his salary would be paid with cancer research money. 

Stan forced out a humorless laugh. “He knew, all right. I went to the board meeting where it was decided. A bunch of my colleagues went, y’know, in protest. I saw him sitting there with my own eyes. He even stood up and made a statement about how London Bridge was going to have the best plastics program in the country. So, yeah. He definitely knew.”

Louis sat in stunned silence while Stan said something about getting together for dinner sometime soon. “Louis? Lou?” Stan said after a few long moments, staring at Louis quizzically. 

“Huh? Er—yeah, that’s—I’ll talk to you later, Stan,” Louis said absently, standing up and stuffing his things back into his bag. “Thanks for meeting with me, mate. I’ve gotta—,” he gestured vaguely toward the door, gave Stan a jerky, cursory handshake, and dashed into the sharp chill of the late November afternoon.

* * *

Harry didn’t see Louis the day after the whole Zayn debacle. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. By the time Harry left the hospital on Thursday afternoon, he was in a mild state of panic.

He knew that Louis had observed one of his surgeries on Monday afternoon, but he’d managed to slip out of the gallery before Harry could catch up with him, and then he’d messaged on Tuesday saying that he would be away from the hospital for a bit while he got some work done at the _London Now_ office. 

And, like—Harry knew that it was absurd. But he couldn’t stop  _thinking_ about Louis, was the thing.  Harry was slightly alarmed at how quickly he’d become accustomed to Louis’ sarcastic quips and the scribble of Louis’ pen against the notepad that he always carried and the way that Louis’ eyes got especially crinkly when he was trying not to laugh at one of Harry’s stupid jokes.

To make matter worse, Harry couldn’t figure out whether Louis was dodging him because he was actually busy, or if there was another reason for his sudden and mysterious absence from the hospital. 

 

“Just call him,” Perrie suggested over drinks Thursday night, rolling her eyes as if this should have been the first obvious course of action. 

“I can’t just _call_ him!” Harry insisted.

“Why not? You don’t have his number?”  
“No, I do. But I’ve been drinking. S’unprofessional. Plus, what if he hates me now?” 

Perrie studied him with an arched brow. “You realize how ridiculous you’re being, right?” 

Harry huffed out a long sigh. 

“I’ll call him,” he said at last, feeling a potent cocktail of panic and exhilaration and alcohol swirling inside him, making him feel stupid and brave.

“There’s a good lad,” Perrie said, patting him on the back and taking a hearty swig of her drink. “And Harry?”

“Yeah?”  
“Don’t make it weird. Just be casual.”

Harry nodded and picked up his phone. Casual. He could be casual. Casual was his middle name. Well, Edward was his middle name, but that was beside the point. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled the crumpled business card Louis had given him two weeks ago out of his pocket and dialed the number printed at the bottom. The phone rang once, twice, then Louis’ voice blared through the speaker, tinny but wonderfully familiar. 

“Hullo, you’ve reached Louis Tomlinson. I’m not available to take your call at the moment but if you leave your name and number I’ll make sure to give you a call back. Ta!”

Had Louis screened his call? Should he leave a message? Should he have called in the first place?

A mechanical beep jerked him out of his reverie. “Oh, bugger,” he murmured. “Um, I mean—hi, Louis! It’s—um, Harry—Styles. From the hospital.” This was not going well. He cleared his throat and valiantly carried on. “Anyway, I’m just calling to—um.” Oh God, why was he calling? What had he been thinking? This had been a terrible mistake. “—to just, like. Y’know. Check in. Er—since you haven’t been around for the past few days. So yeah, I was just calling to say—er, what’s up?” 

What’s up? _What’s up?_ Harry chanced a glance over at Perrie and found her studying him incredulously. “Okay, well, I guess that’s it. Bye!” he chirped manically and rung off, promptly chucking his phone onto the slightly sticky wooden tabletop.

“That was a nightmare! Why do you let me talk to anyone?” he groaned.

“Yeah, that was a disaster," she said matter-of-factly. "What's the matter with you?"

“S’not helpful, Pez,” he grumbled with a stony glare in her direction. 

She shrugged. “Accepting that you have a problem’s the first step.”

* * *

Three days after his meeting with Stan, Louis was putting the finishing touches on his first draft of the Styles profile.  He was pretty sure it was the best thing he’d ever written. He was also pretty sure that he was quickly becoming a nervous wreck. For the past few days, he’d been haunted by two versions of Harry. There was the Harry that cared about his patients and mooned over his dogs and knew everyone at the hospital by name. Then there was the swaggering, smirking Harry with the famous friends and bank account full of cancer research money. He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

He was lost in his thoughts when his phone began to ring. He looked down and saw an unfamiliar number. He rolled his eyes and sent the call to voicemail. He had no clue who would be calling at this hour, but he was sure that he wasn’t in the mood to deal with whoever it was.

A minute later, his mobile pinged with a voicemail notification. He frowned at it for a moment before curiosity got the better of him and he hit play. 

“Oh, bugger,” an all-too familiar voice cursed in his ear. “I mean, hi, Louis!”

Harry spent the next thirty seconds or so rambling in the slow, syrupy drawl that Louis had become so accustomed to. He realized with a pang that he'd missed Harry’s voice. It was an excellent voice: deep and warm, rich and resonant. Louis kind of wanted to curl up in it, fall asleep listening to it. 

The message ended and Louis listened to it again. Then again. After he’d listened to it a third time, he cursed and deleted it from his phone.  He was so completely fucked.

 

Friday morning was one of those mornings where getting out of bed and going to work seems an utter impossibility: a dull, dreary morning that seems made for burrowing deeper under the covers and shirking all of one’s responsibilities. It was also the morning that he was turning in his draft and meeting with James and Simon about the profile, so spending the day in bed was sadly not an option.

He heaved himself out of bed with an aggrieved groan and got dressed in stony silence. HisTube ride was crowded and damp, his tea wasn’t as strong as he liked it, and his internet was down when he got to the office. 

By the time Niall and Zayn popped in to say hello at 9:30, he was ready to explode on the first person who gave him an opportunity.

“Top of the morning, Tommo!” Niall boomed cheerfully, plopping into a chair and shoving most of a scone into his mouth. “Why’re you so cheerful?” Louis grumbled without looking up from his computer. “S’Friday,” Niall mumbled around his bite. “Practically the weekend! Speaking of which, pints tonight?”

Louis looked up. Niall was wearing his stupid newsboy cap and a cheerful grin that inexplicably put Louis in an ever worse mood. “No,” he said shortly. “I don’t feel like it.”

“C’mon, mate! You always feel like pints!” Niall implored, giving Louis his best puppy dog eyes. 

Louis shut his laptop and rounded on Niall. “Could you just drop it, please? I’m fucking exhausted and I have a whole shit ton of stuff to do today.”

Niall’s mouth popped open in surprise. “Yeah, okay,” he said, rising swiftly from his chair and heading for the door. “I should get back to the sports desk. I’ll catch you later, Lou.”

Zayn followed him, but turned around to face Louis once he’d reached the door. “I don’t know what’s up your arse today, but Niall did nothing to deserve that.” Louis opened his mouth to respond, but Zayn was out the door before he could apologize for being a prick, leaving him even more miserable than he had been.

 

An hour later, Louis was seated across from Simon and James in the editor-in-chief’s office, trying his best not to be too unnerved by Simon’s piercing stare. 

“So.” Simon leaned forward in his seat. “Do you have a draft for us?” 

Louis cleared his throat. He’d spent the last four days convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, that Harry deserved this. Now that the moment had arrived to deliver the draft, he heard a voice that sounded remarkably like Niall’s, whispering, “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Er—I do have a draft finished,” he said hesitantly. “But it’s not quite perfect yet. I have quite a bit more work to do on it. There are still some things that I need to develop and flesh out and—.”

“Which is why it’s just a draft,” Simon inserted with a smile that Louis supposed was meant to be reassuring. “Relax, Louis. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’ll still have a couple of weeks to make edits and gather more information.”

 

“R-right,” he faltered, finally reaching into his bag for the printed copy of his draft and setting it carefully on Simon’s desk. 

“Oh, and Louis?” James said on Louis' way out the door. 

“I know it’s last minute, but we’re going to need you to shadow Dr. Styles on a surgery he’s doing this weekend. He’s traveling to Birmingham for an especially tricky facial reconstructive something or other, and we want you to go with him. Get more material for the profile.”

“He—wait, what?” Louis said faintly, hoping he’d somehow misheard. 

“You’ll be staying tonight and tomorrow night, then heading back to London on Sunday. Food and travel expenses will be covered, as always. We’ve already booked your hotel and you’ll get overtime for the whole weekend,” James said.

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” Simon asked with an infinitesimal eyebrow raise. It was a question that wasn’t really a question.

“A problem? No, not at all!” Louis replied in an oddly screechy voice that didn’t sound like his own. 

“Excellent!” James grinned. “Why don’t you head out early so you can get ready to go?”

“Er—sure, yeah,” Louis said absently. “I mean, yes, of course. Thanks, James. Simon.” He gave both men a weak nod and backed out of the room, his heart pounding.

 

“Why, if it isn’t my good friend, Louis Tomlinson!” a ringing voice called once he'd reached the hallway, nearly making Louis jump out of his skin.  He looked around wildly then rolled his eyes when he saw who was calling his name. “What do you want, Grimmy?”

Nick grinned. “I heard that you and a certain Harry Styles are going on a romantic getaway this weekend.

Louis gaped at him. “How are you always the first person in this place to find shit out?”

“Because I’m Jesus,” Nick answered seriously.

“Shut up. Did Harry tell you?”

“No, James did. I don’t expect Harry knows yet. You should probably tell him.”

“Why do I need to tell him?” Louis scoffed. “S’not like I’m his chaperone.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Because if you don’t tell him, he’ll probably be a bit surprised to see your ugly mug in Binrmingham tomorrow. Might be a bit of a distraction.”

Louis scowled and punched Nick in the arm. “You’re such a dick,” he remarked.

Nick gave him a wounded look and rubbed his arm gingerly. “That hurts, Louis. I thought that what we had was special.”

Louis hummed noncommittally and Nick flicked his forehead. “Piss off and go call your boyfriend,” he said.

“He’s not my—you know what, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“Yeah, okay. Have a nice weekend, Lou.” Louis gave him a wave goodbye and continued down the hallway for his office.

 

When he had plopped into his desk chair a minute later, he picked up his phone and stared at it for a long moment. As much as he hated to admit it, Nick had a point. He probably should call Harry and let him know that he’d be tagging along this weekend. It was only polite.

_“He probably won’t even pick up,”_ Louis thought hopefully as he clicked into his missed calls and selected Harry’s number from the top of the list. _“It’s the middle of the morning and he’s probably in rounds or—.”_ His wishful thinking was interrupted by a cheerful, “Hullo, Harry Styles here!” 

Louis couldn’t resist an eye roll at that. “Your manners are perfect, as always, Harold,” he said before he could stop himself. Harry’s stupid laugh rang clearly through the speaker, warm and delighted, and Louis felt his insides tingle pleasantly. _“No! Stop that!”_ he told his insides sternly. _“That’s not allowed!”_

“Hi, Louis,” Harry drawled. “Er—hey,” Louis replied hesitantly. 

“I’m assuming that you got my embarrassing message last night and you’re calling to make fun of me?” Harry guessed. Louis could hear the smile in his voice and he wanted to see it and then kiss it off his stupid, beautiful face. Which, no. He was not doing very well.

“Um—not exactly,” he said. “Though your voicemail-leaving skills are fairly atrocious and you should really work on them,” he added, feeling a slow grin creeping onto his face.  “I actually called because, well. I—y’know that trip you’re taking to Birmingham to perform that surgery?”

“Yes?” Harry said, sounding politely confused.

“Well, my editors want me to go and observe the procedure. So I’m going as well.” 

“You’re going to Birmingham?” Harry asked disbelievingly.

“Just, y’know to watch,” Louis said quickly “And, like, write. And, um—yeah. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“No, yeah, that’s great!” Harry replied excitedly. “These things are usually so dull. It’ll be great to have some company!”

“Oh, um. Okay,” Louis said blankly. “I’ll just—I guess I’ll see you in Birmingham tonight.”

“Are you driving up, then?” Harry asked.

Louis snorted at that. “Of course I’m not. S’not like I have a car. I’m taking the train like a normal person.”

“I—um, I have a car,” Harry said, sounding slightly sheepish. Of course Harry had a car. It was probably big and new and ludicrously expensive.  “You could ride with me if you wanted?” he continued.

_“Absolutely not. Not happening,”_ Louis thought to himself resolutely. “No, that’s okay,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Don’t be daft, Louis; it’s not a bother!”

“I don’t care to take the train. You really don’t have to worry about—.” 

“No, really. I insist,” Harry pressed. “It’ll be so much easier that way. I’ll text you my address, then we can meet at my flat at around 4, if that works for you? That way, we can beat the traffic and get to Birmingham by half 6 or so.”

Louis felt tingly short of breath and scatter-brained. Maybe he was dying. “Oh, um. If you’re sure it’s okay…” he relented, trailing off lamely. 

“Of course it’s okay, Lou,” Harry said, and his voice was soft and fond, like a warm beam of sunlight melted into sound. Which, wow. Louis was officially losing his mind. 

“Right, see you later, then!” he blurted out and rung off before he could wander his way into any deeper trouble. Though it was hard to imagine how a weekend alone with Harry Styles could lead to anything other than even more trouble.


	5. -5-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck, as usual :( sorry that this update is so terribly overdue! But things are moving quickly now and I'm loving where the story is headed (even though it's turning out much longer than I originally thought, but what's new there)! ANYHOW, I hope you all enjoy the chapter! Leave me a comment and tell me what you thought! Happy Sunday :)

In less than 24 hours, Harry would be in an operating room in Birmingham City Hospital elbow-deep in the most complex facial reconstruction he’d ever performed.  Currently, he was more concerned about the two and a half hours he was about to spend alone in the car with Louis Tomlinson. 

“I’m not even worried about the surgery. Does that make me a bad doctor?” Harry wondered aloud.

“Course not. You’re going to smash the surgery,” Liam scoffed. “And you don’t need to worry about Louis either,” he added with a small frown. 

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t dislike him,” Liam said slowly. “I just—I dunno. I think it’s odd that he didn’t tell you that he was seeing someone.”

Harry shrugged with an air of forced nonchalance. “It never came up,” he said a bit defensively.

 

“Seems like it would have come up around the time he kissed you after that party,” Sophia inserted casually as she entered the living room holding Harry’s chihuahua Latte under one arm.

“Hello to you too, Soph,” Harry said drily as she crossed the room to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, babe. Thanks for letting us keep the pups while you’re in Birmingham.”

While she was speaking, Harry shot Liam an icy glance that clearly said, “Thanks a lot for telling your fiancé about my pathetic love life.”

Liam put both hands up apologetically. Sophia rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up. He tells me everything. How else am I supposed to be an effective life coach?”

“Well as my life coach you should know that I was actually the one who—.”

“Right, you kissed him or whatever,” Sophia said dismissively. “But do you really think it’s a coincidence that he disappeared from the hospital right after you found out about the boyfriend?”

Harry shot Liam another glare. 

“Well, it’s true!” Liam said. “Listen, you know this bloke better than I do. It’s just—well, you’re very trusting, Haz.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

“What Liam’s trying to say—,” Sophia said with the long-suffering air of someone who had been putting up with Harry and Liam’s shit for a very long time, “—is that we don’t want to see you get hurt like last time.”

“This is nothing like last time,” Harry replied testily. “It’s just a little crush. It’ll go away soon enough,” he shrugged with a most unconvincing tone of airy indifference. “Anyways, thanks for watching the dogs while I’m away. Remember Latte’s medicine in the morning. And Lucy needs to go out at night or she _will_ pee in your flat. And—.”

“Hazza, they’ll be fine!” Sophia said exasperatedly, shooing him towards the door. “Go build that man a new face! And don’t fuck the journalist,” she added as an after-thought.

“God, Soph, lay off the man!” Liam laughed, hugging her from behind and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’m his life coach! M’just doing my job,” she insisted, turning around in his arms and giving him a swift kiss. 

As he lit himself out of the flat, Harry wondered whether the pang of resentment that he felt toward his friends for being in literally the perfect relationship made him a shitty person.

* * *

Louis consulted Google maps, then peered up at an elegant, stately-looking brick building that looked out over the River Thames. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of his mission: make it through the next 48 hours without making the Harry Styles situation any worse than it already was, which meant no flirting and no funny business of any kind. It shouldn’t be all that difficult. He was a Very Serious Journalist, after all. He nodded to himself, scaled the steps to Harry’s building and pressed the buzzer. 

“Louis, is that you?” Harry’s voice blared through the speaker almost at once. Louis could hear the smile in it and that did something strange and swoopy in the pit of his stomach.

“Yep, it’s me,” he said briskly. 

He hoisted his duffle bag higher onto his shoulder and pushed the door open once he heard a loud buzz. 

The inside of the building was spacious and bare with exposed brick and a high, wood-paneledceiling that gave the building an industrial feel. Louis had been expecting a glitzy high-rise with a doorman and a massive lobby and tinkling music and large potted plants. As he climbed the stairs to the third floor, he reflected that he much preferred this. 

Harry answered the door almost as soon as he knocked. He was dressed in black jeans, bare feet, and a white t-shirt that fit so well that it looked like he might have had it made. His hair was damp, an unruly wet curl flying out from behind one ear. It had only been four days, but Louis was overwhelmed with the feeling of not having seen Harry for ages. He pushed the feeling away as quickly as it had come up and pasted a polite smile onto his face.

“Hi! Did you find the building okay?” Harry asked. 

He nodded. “It’s only about a 10 minute walk from my place, actually.”

Harry bit back a smile and waved Louis inside the flat. “Where’s your place?” he asked over his shoulder as he crossed the room and toed on a pair of boots that were sitting by a large leather armchair.

“I’m on the dodgier end of Bankside. On Southwark between the Tesco and a Caffe Nero.”

“I do my shopping at that Tesco!” Harry said delightedly. “We could’ve run into each other before and not even known it!”

Louis hummed noncommittally, privately thinking that he definitely would have noticed Harry if they had run into each other in the past. 

 

Louis took a few more steps into the living room and took a good look around.  His first thought was that Harry’s flat smelled like him—clean linens and cedar and something else, unplaceable yet pleasant and distinctly familiar. Oddly enough, the realization sent a warm, tingly feeling through his body. 

The flat was open and well-lit by several large bay windows with a beautiful view of the river and city beyond. The living room-kitchen area was easily twice the size of Louis’ own cramped studio and the space was simply and tastefully furnished in earthy hues of chocolate brown, burgundy, and olive green.  The whole thing was very mature and neat and put-together; Louis—whose most significant piece of home decor was a framed Doncaster Rovers jersey—resolved to be a better adult and keep his own flat a bit tidier in the future. 

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Er—nearly. Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?”

“Yeah, no problem. It’s at the end of the hall on the left.”

Louis nodded and slipped down the dimly-lit hallway. He was turning for the door on the left when another door caught his eye. It was across the hall and slightly ajar and Louis, nosy as he was, couldn’t resist a peak inside. 

 

At a glance, Harry’s bedroom looked like him, warm and inviting and just a little cluttered. Louis felt a thrill of something warm and prickly in the pit of his stomach at this uninvited look into Harry’s brain.  A king size bed was piled with fluffy white pillows and a plush white duvet. A massive window with a cushioned window seat allowed late afternoon sunlight to spill amply into the room. 

Louis bit his bottom lip to contain a grin as he inspected the photographs that littered the top of Harry’s dresser: Liam and Harry beamed from one frame in graduation robes; a pretty woman with Harry’s green eyes and toothy grin balanced a young Harry on her shoulders, both of them laughing; a group of people Louis didn’t recognize made goofy faces on a beach. 

“This isn’t the bathroom,” an amused voice breathed in his ear. Louis’ heart stopped. Harry was standing right behind him, green eyes gleaming like sea glass. 

“If you wanted to see my bedroom you could’ve just asked, Lou,” he said. His tone was light and playful, but he was looking at Louis with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

He felt blood rushing to his face as he took backward step toward the door. “Oh! God, I’m sorry! I just—the door was open and—. Sorry, I’m just going to—,” he gestured toward the hall and slipped past Harry, cheeks flaming.

* * *

The walk to the small parking garage behind Harry’s building was a silent one. Their bizarre interaction in Harry’s bedroom aside, Louis was acting oddly reserved and withholding today, in the way that he had when they’d first met. Harry had labeled this stiff, professional Louis as “Journalist Louis” and had rather hoped that he’d seen the last of him after what had happened at Nick’s party last week. 

“Well, this is me,” Harry said, pointing to his baby blue Mini Cooper. Louis stopped a few feet away from the car, shuffled a bit on his scuffed Vans, and fiddled with the strap on his duffle, the muscles of his forearm twitching slightly under tan, tattooed skin. 

Harry reflected absentmindedly that Louis’ beauty had a certain restless quality to it, finicky and fragile—something about the slightly nervous twitch of his lips when he was trying not to smile and the way that his hand constantly flew to his face to flip his fringe out of his eyes. There was this strangely hypnotic, frenetic energy about him, like he was always buzzing just a bit.

“Well?” Louis asked, jolting him from his thoughts. “Huh?” he grunted.

“I asked if you could unlock the boot. So I can stick my bag in there.”

“The—what?” Harry asked, still slightly dazed. “Oh, right! Yes, of course!” Harry said, raising the keys toward the car and dropping them in his haste. By the time he had retrieved them, his cheeks were pink and Louis was biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m clumsy. It’s hilarious,” he said drily. 

Louis burst out laughing. “Clumsy’s a bit of an understatement, mate. You’re about as graceful as a baby giraffe learning to walk.”

“Good one. You should really consider a career in stand-up comedy if the journalism thing doesn’t work out,” Harry said seriously. That just made Louis laugh harder, eyes crinkling and sharp incisors sinking into the plush pink of his bottom lip, making little white indentations. 

Harry felt his palms tingle with a combination of desire and the absurd surge of pride that accompanied making Louis laugh. He wasn’t sure what had caused Louis’ sudden shift in mood, but he wasn’t complaining.

“I’d love to stand here and watch you laugh at your own jokes all day—“ (the sad part is that he actually would)—“but we should probably get on the road if we want to get to Birmingham at a decent hour.”

 

Ten minutes later, Harry was merging onto the highway, Louis was pulling up directions on his phone, and Eric Clapton was crooning “Layla” on the radio.  “My mum was obsessed with this song when I was a kid,” Louis said, jerking a thumb toward the radio. “She always said that if I was a girl I would’ve been called Layla.”

Louis would have been a very pretty Layla, Harry thought to himself, crystal blue eyes and long, feathery eyelashes swimming hazily through his mind.

“My dad always used to play this record in the car when I was a kid,” Harry mused, his lips twitching upward at the memory. 

Louis hummed. “A classic rock lover, then?”

Harry nodded. “I grew up on this stuff. Clapton and Zeppelin and The Stones and Pink Floyd. I think I could still sing The Wall from top to bottom if I had to.”

“Pink Floyd’s drummer is actually from Birmingham,” Louis remarked. 

“That’s quite random,” Harry chuckled. “How’d you know that?”

“I wrote a story on Syd Barrett’s daughter’s wedding last year. David Gilmour and Nick Mason were both there, which was pretty sick.” 

“Oh, I read that one!” Harry said brightly before he could think any better of it.

“You what?” 

Harry chanced a glance toward the passenger’s seat in time to see the small smile that had been playing at the corners of Louis’ lips slip straight off his face.  “I—uh, read that article. I read a bunch of your articles,” Harry mumbled, fervently wishing that he could take back the moment when he’d decided it would be a good idea to reveal that he’d basically been stalking Louis.

“You—you did?” Louis said sounding uncomfortable and, for some reason, slightly panicked. 

Silence stretched between them, a terrible, stagnant thing that almost hurt Harry’s ears. He wracked his brain for something casual to say—a joke to diffuse the tension and salvage the situation before he lost the remaining shreds of his dignity. 

“They were very good,” he said with a playful grin. “I especially liked the one about the Cher impersonator. Very hard-hitting stuff.”

Louis’ blue eyes narrowed, their cool blue suddenly icy. “Well at least what I do doesn’t take money away from cancer research,” he snapped.

 

Harry recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “Ex—excuse me?” he sputtered. “Where did you hear that?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I have my sources. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up and his cheeks grow warm at the implication that he had somehow been dishonest. “I wasn’t trying to deny anything,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “I haven’t ever lied to you, Louis and I don’t plan to start now.” 

His grip tightened on the steering wheel when Louis scoffed. “Maybe you haven’t lied, but you certainly left that little detail out of our interviews,” he said defiantly. 

“The fact that you’re writing about me doesn’t entitle you to every detail about my life,” Harry said as bitingly as he could manage because honestly, _how fucking dare Louis ambush him like this?_

“I guess I also should have told you about how I moved to London because I found out that my girlfriend of two years was cheating on me with one of my mates? Or that I had to live with Liam and Sophia for the first six months because I was so lonely and I didn’t know anyone here?”

Harry felt his chest tightening, so overwhelmed by his own indignation that he could hardly draw breath.  “The offer from London Bridge came at a time when I really needed it, and it was a greatopportunity. For myself and for the hospital. I didn’t find out that where the money was coming from until later, but even if I did it wouldn’t have changed my decision,” he said, sticking his chin up defiantly and looking Louis straight in the eyes. “We do important work and if you haven’t seen that, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Louis looked flabbergasted. He blinked once then twice, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. He looked kind of like a fish. Harry might have been endeared by it if he wasn’t still fucking furious. 

 

For the next few minutes, the car was horribly silent save for Harry’s favorite Amy Winehouse song, which he had never wanted to listen to less. His whole body was still thrumming with suppressed anger. He kind of wanted to shout some more, demand to know how Louis could think so little of him when he’d thought that they were—what? Friends? Something more? Fuck, he felt stupid.

“Tell me about the surgery you’re doing tomorrow,” Louis blurted out at last.

“What?” he snapped defensively.

“The facial reconstruction. Tell me more about it,” Louis said, his voice gentle and kind like he was trying to calm an angry child. Harry resisted the urge to snap that he didn’t appreciate Louis’ tone. Then he noticed that he was literally pouting, his lower lip jutting out sulkily, and felt rather churlish. 

He sighed deeply. “This bloke in Smethwick got attacked by his dog,” he said shortly. “The bottom half of his face was pretty much destroyed. I’m reshaping his nose, lips and chin.” 

“How are you doing that?” Louis asked, leaning forward in his seat and cocking his head to the side inquisitively. 

Harry felt the anger seep from his body as he described the procedure step by step. By the time he was explaining the difference between transplants and reconstructive procedures, his muscles no longer felt tingly and tense with the buzzing sense of outrage. Now he just felt tired.

 

“I was completely out of order earlier,” Louis said quietly once he’d finished his explanation. “It was a shitty, unprofessional thing to say. I had no right.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said flatly. He didn’t want Louis to be sorry because he’d been unprofessional. He didn’t even know what he wanted, honestly.

“It’s not fine,” Louis said vehemently, making an aborted move across the center console to where Harry’s arm was resting, then seeming to think better of it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “But I am sorry. Really.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Harry said, turning up the radio and fervently hoping that this conversation would end already. His brain chose that moment to recall Sophia trilling “Don’t fuck the journalist!” on his way out the door. Yeah, well. There was no way that was going to happen now.

* * *

Louis made two discoveries on the trip to Birmingham. First and most importantly, that he was an absolute prat who should never be allowed to speak to anyone ever again. Harry was a good person; anyone with eyes could see that. But Louis had twisted one thing he’d done and centered an entire, ugly article around it. The shame of the words he’d just handed over to Simon and James made his stomach roil. He was still trying to decide what to do about all of that as he processed the second discovery of trip.

Which was that Harry Styles was fucking hot when he was mad. His voice had taken an extra deep, husky quality and his cheeks had gone this wonderful shade of pink and the muscles in his back had tensed through the fabric of his t-shirt. It had all been confusingly and disarmingly attractive and now Louis couldn’t really think about anything other than Harry’s large hands pushing him against a wall or sliding down his back or closing around his wrists, holding them over his head while he—.

_“No. Stop that right now,”_ Louis ordered himself in a voice that sounded suspiciously like James’. _“No funny business! You promised yourself!”_ James-Louis reminded him. _“That was before you realized that you were being stupid and he’s not actually the monster you wrote about,”_ another voice chimed in, this one uncannily similar to Niall’s. 

Louis snorted to himself. _“Might as well ask Zayn what he thinks as well!”_ Louis thought sardonically. 

Which, wow. None of those people were actually in the car or in Louis’ brain. Louis was officially losing his grip. It was almost certainly Harry’s fault. But honestly, how was Louis _not_ supposed to want him when he was a beautiful contradiction, tattoos and dimples, broad muscles and pastel scrubs? 

 

Louis glanced toward the driver’s side. Harry’s hands looked even bigger than usual clenched tightly around the wheel. His broad shoulders were hunched and the strong line of his jaw was set tightly. He looked like he needed a massage. 

The ridiculous part of Louis’ brain (which had steadily been gaining power over the past few weeks) was tempted to offer him one when they got to the hotel. Louis wanted to feel the warmth of Harry’s skin under his own; feel the tension leaving Harry’s body, leaving miles of loosely relaxed muscle; listen to the beautiful breathy sounds that Harry would make when Louis’ hands drifted lower and lower—God, was he actually a fucking 16-year old? This was getting ridiculous.

He needed to stop. Right the fuck now. That way lay madness that Louis was wholly unprepared to deal with at the moment. “So—” he said, more to distract himself than anything else— “How did Liam’s surgery go on Tuesday? He’d mentioned that he was a bit nervous about it.” 

“Was fine,” Harry all but grunted, his eyes still on the road. 

“That’s aces! What about your Wednesday rhinoplasty? I know those are your fav—.”

Harry cut him off. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not talk,” he said shortly. “Got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, that’s—yeah, sure. Sorry,” Louis mumbled, doing his best not to sound like he’d been punched in the gut.

 

He spent the next horrifically awkward hour and a half looking at his phone and violently suppressing memories of a road-trip he’d taken with an ex that involved copious car sex. He had no right to be this turned on, not after he’d acted like such a dick. It was just that he wasn’t often trapped in such tight quarters with someone as maddeningly attractive as Harry Styles. 

At last, Harry turned into the hotel, a standard Hilton several miles outside of the city. “Here we are,” he announced unceremoniously, sliding out of his seat and shutting the door behind him (much harder than was strictly necessary, in Louis’ opinion). 

Unlike on their walk to the car at Harry’s flat, Harry did not offer to carry Louis’ bag. Not that Louis minded carrying his own bag. It had just been very charming when Harry had volunteered. Quirky and kind and a little dorky and just very Harry. Louis’ chest ached for a long moment that lasted until he’d taken a deep breath, closed the door to the boot, and followed Harry into the hotel. 

 

_“Maybe it’ll be one of those romantic comedy situations where the hotel accidentally booked us in the same room with only one bed,”_ Louis thought to himself as they approached the check-in desk. This thought was accompanied by the realization that he was being both creepy and absolutely ridiculous. 

What was wrong with him? Harry had been understandably distant throughout the entirety of the disastrous car ride, and something about not being able to recapture his attention was making Louis feel slightly itchy and off-balance. He had grown accustomed to Harry’s big, stupid laugh and the warm, covert glances he always shot Louis when Ed said something stupid and the special smile he pulled out when he was really pleased, all dimples and berry red lips and big white teeth. The way he’d smiled at Louis after they’d kissed last weekend.

“Sir? Sir?” Louis snapped back to reality with a confused, “Huh?” The woman behind the front desk was looking at him wearily.

“She asked what name your reservation’s under,” Harry said grudgingly from behind him.

 

As it turns out, he and Harry were not booked into the same room by mistake. They weren’t even booked on the same floor. Harry had been ushered to a suite on the top floor by a pretty blonde receptionist while he’d been handed a key card and instructed that the lift would take him to his room on the third floor. Not that Louis particularly cared. Harry was kind of the guest of honor and all-around medical hero while he was an unnecessary tagalong whose main job was to stay out of the way.

All the same, the antsy feeling from the car ride still hadn’t gone away now that he and Harry weren’t together. If anything, it had gotten worse as Louis replayed the things he’d said in the car and remembered how hurt and surprised and disappointed Harry had looked. 

It took all of five minutes to unpack, poke around the unimpressive minibar, and pace around the small room about twelve times.

He groaned and threw himself onto the fluffy hotel mattress, fishing his phone out of his pocket and pressing it to his ear. 

“Zaaaayyyn!” he whined as soon as Zayn picked up.

“Lewis,” Zayn said dispassionately. 

“I need your advice, mate. I think I might be just a bit fucked over here.”

“Am I supposed to be surprised by that?” Zayn asked dryly.

“Fuck off, this is serious. I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I—fuck. Er—“ he took a deep breath then blurted the rest out in one great breath—“I think I like Harry Styles, like actually _like_ him, not just 'think he’s fit' like him.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then he heard a raucous peal of laughter from someone who definitely wasn’t Zayn.

“Niall?” He wasn’t at all surprised that Zayn had him on speaker and that Niall had been listening this whole time. He was, however, extremely annoyed that Niall was laughing at his heartfelt admission. 

He heard Zayn murmur, “Shut up, Niall; you’ll make him go all stroppy if you laugh at him,” then they both snickered. 

“Well, I’m glad that this is all just a big joke to you two,” he said, unable to keep the petulant note out of his voice.

“C’mon Lou! You’ve been mooning over Harry Styles for weeks and you want us to act all shocked now that you’ve finally realized it?” Niall demanded.

“I’ve not been mooning over anyone,” Louis sniffed with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I saw you at Nick’s party, mate. I’m pretty sure you were actually sitting on his lap at one point,” Niall pointed out.

“That never happened,” he scoffed. That definitely happened. Maybe Louis had been in denial, just a bit.

“So I’m assuming that you’re calling because you’ve already found a way to cock things up,” Zayn cut in. Louis sighed and told them what happened in the car. 

“You actually accused him of taking money from cancer patients? To his face?” Niall said with a snort of disbelieving laughter.

“I know, I’m a fucking idiot! It’s just—he told me that he read a bunch of my stupid articles and I kind of freaked out because now he knows that I just write stupid Life and Style bullshit.”

“Go tell him that, then,” Zayn said matter-factly.

“Tell him that I’m embarrassed because my job’s a joke? I can’t do that!” Louis said, laughing a little wildly.

“Just go tell ‘im that you put your own stupid shit on him and that you like him and want to have a lot of sex,” Niall suggested. It sounded like he was talking around a large bite of food. Louis bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a grin. 

“I’ll think about it,” Louis said carefully.

“What are you going to do about the profile?” Zayn asked.

Louis felt like the air had been momentarily punched from his lungs. “I’ll have to think about that, too,” he sighed.

 

Five minutes later, he was standing in front of the door to Harry’s room. He wasn’t totally sure what he was going to say, but he was sure that he was going to lose his mind if he stayed in his room for one more moment, so he took a deep breath and rapped firmly on the door.

When Harry opened the door and saw Louis, his mouth popped open in surprise. Louis almost laughed and pointed out that he was the only person that Harry knew at this hotel, but then he remembered why he was there and thought better of it.

“Hi,” he said with a bright smile that Harry didn’t return. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, sounding more curious than angry. His posture was stiff and guarded, shoulders hunched and body positioned so that he was blocking the entry to the room; it was so different from the easy, trusting openness that Harry had always shown him. Louis kind of wanted to die for having caused this sudden shift.

It was what made him blurt out, “I hate writing about Cher impersonators.”

“Sorry?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I want to do political journalism. It’s all I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. But I’ve been out of school for three years now and the only thing I’ve done is write fluff pieces for Life and Style and—it’s just like. I dunno, I love the newspaper but the wedding announcements and human interest stories are—embarrassing. And not what I want to be doing with my life. And when you said that you’d read a bunch of my articles, I kind of freaked out because—.” He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what he was about to say. “—because it meant that you’d found out I was a joke. And I don’t—I don’t want to be a joke to you.”

His heart was hammering madly in his chest as he said, “That’s why I was such a prat earlier. Not that I’m trying to make excuses, but—I thought you deserved an explanation.”

 

Harry stared at him, eyes dark and inscrutable. After five torturous seconds of silence, Louis spoke, his voice coming out gruff and oddly strangled.

“So that’s what I wanted to say and now I’ve said it so—yeah. I, uh, guess I’ll be off then,” he said awkwardly, turning to go and feeling like maybe he’d made a terrible mistake. He already felt the low simmer of shame bubbling in his gut at having unloaded all of his stupid job insecurity bullshit on Harry. What had he been thinking? He was going to kill Zayn and Niall once he got back to London.

“D’you want to have dinner with me?” Harry asked once he’d already taken two steps down the hall. Louis turned and saw that Harry was still looking at him with that smoldering intensity that made him feel like all of the air had been sucked from the room.

“What?” he asked slightly disbelievingly. 

“Dinner,” Harry repeated, his lips finally quirking into a small smile. “Maybe at the hotel restaurant? In say, half an hour.”

Louis nodded vaguely. “Half an hour,” he murmured, his mind racing because he needed to change clothes and calm the fuck down and maybe send Niall and Zayn a fruit basket.

* * *

Harry felt a bit foolish changing clothes just so he could go downstairs and eat dinner, but all the same he had dazedly tugged on a clean pair of black jeans and a sheer black and red floral button down that Liam told him was fucking ridiculous, but that he always wore when he wanted to pull.

He suspected that he should probably still be angry, that he should have told Louis where he could shove his apology and that he should want nothing to do with him. Instead, he had asked Louis to dinner and changed into his favorite jeans and pulling shirt and spent 10 minutes frantically trying to get his hair to look remotely presentable. 

The worst part was that he didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel sheepish about it because his whole brain was currently occupied with Louis standing at his door, fidgety and wide-eyed and almost desperately earnest. It had taken every ounce of self control he possessed not to grab Louis by the wrist and push him onto the bed and take him apart bit by bit until he was begging for it. Emotional openness was kind of a huge turn on for him and if that was wrong, he didn’t want to be right.

 

The elevator down to the lobby stopped on the third floor and Louis stepped in, blue eyes lighting up when he saw Harry. Louis’ gaze traveled down his body, lingering minutely on the four buttons that he’d left undone on his shirt and the butterfly tattooed under his sternum. The pulling shirt never failed. Harry tried not to feel too pleased.

He felt his mouth go dry when he got a chance to look Louis up and down. The light blue button down he’d chosen brought out his natural tan and his tight black slacks looked like they were made for Harry to take them off. He was so fit. Harry was so fucked.

“You look like you’re off in your own world,” Louis remarked as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Just—er, thinking about the surgery,” Harry lied. Louis’ brows knit together. “How’re you feeling about it?” he asked. 

“A bit nervous. M’always a bit jittery before big procedures.” Louis hummed. “That makes sense,” he said gently. “But for what it’s worth, I think it’s going to be great.”

They continued to chat about the next day’s surgery as they were led to a table and greeted by a leggy blonde waitress who took their drink orders and smiled at Louis a bit too eagerly for Harry’s liking. 

Louis seemed totally oblivious, leaning into Harry’s orbit and nodding along to everything he said. The waitress came back with their drinks—red wine for Louis and water for Harry, who never drank the night before a surgery—and pivoted her body toward Louis. “Have you and your friend decided what you’d like to eat?” she asked with another beaming smile. She was very pretty. Harry kind of wanted to grab Louis’ hand or start snogging him across the table or something equally absurd.

Louis just smiled politely and ordered a pasta dish. Maybe people flirted with Louis wherever he went and he’d become immune to it, Harry thought to himself absently. After the waitress had left with their orders, Louis turned back to Harry. “So. Is this the first time you’ve traveled for a surgery?”

Harry frowned. They were always talking about him or his job or the hospital, and he wondered with a pang whether Louis saw this as just another interview. 

"Is something wrong?" Louis asked once he'd seen Harry's face.

“No, I just. We always talk about me and all the surgery shit, y’know? I want to talk about you. Get to know you better.” 

Louis’ mouth popped open and a flush bloomed high on his cheeks. He looked pleased.  “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice a little raspier than usual. 

Harry wanted to know everything. He wanted to crawl inside Louis’ brain and wander around for a few days; he wanted to know what Louis looked like when he first woke up in the morning; he wanted to know the sound Louis made when he came. He decided that was a bit too much for dinner conversation, so he settled on saying, “How long have you wanted to do journalism?”

Louis’ smile widened and he leaned forward, propping his chin on his elbow. “Pretty much forever. I used to interview me mum and sisters when I was a kid. I’d write stories about stupid stuff, like who stole Lottie’s Barbie doll or how the school cafeteria should bring back Taco Tuesday.”

Harry laughed at the idea of a tiny Louis snooping around his house and pestering his family for interviews. “That’s incredible,” he said fondly.

“I’ll have to tell me mum you said that. She thought it was right annoying at the time.”

“Are you close with her?” Harry asked, leaning forward himself and mirroring Louis’ posture. He nodded, his eyes going brighter. “She’s kind of my hero,” he said softly. “My dad left when I was really young and she raised all of us on her own. Did everything she could to help put me through school and just like—make me believe that I could do the writing thing.”

“She was right. Your writing is like, really, really good.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “You have to say that; I’m writing a story about you.”

“No, seriously! I know you said you don’t want to be doing Life and Style but all of your articles are so funny and clever. Your talents are wasted on writing about a boring prat like me.”

Something flickered in Louis’ face at that, his mouth tightening and his eyes going momentarily dark. But then he chuckled and flipped his fringe out of his eyes and when he looked up, the expression was gone.

 

An hour later, their plates were long empty and they were two of the only remaining patrons in the restaurant. Harry had just finished a lengthy explanation of how _Pride and Prejudice_ wasn't just a girl book and that it should be required reading for everyone.

“That’s exactly what Zayn said! He’s been trying to get me to read it for like a year,” Louis exclaimed.“Insists that it’s the greatest love story ever written,” he added, rolling his eyes. “He’s secretly a romantic sap.”

“Zayn—um, seems nice,” Harry said lamely, feeling his stomach lurch at this sudden change of subject. After everything that had happened that afternoon, he’d completely forgotten about the inconvenient fact of Zayn’s existence. 

He felt another pang when Louis laughed fondly, his eyes crinkling up the way they always did when he was really, genuinely happy. “I wouldn’t exactly describe Zayn as nice, not in the traditional sense at least. But he’s absolutely brilliant and like, really loyal. He’s an incredible person.”

“How long have you been together?” Harry asked, trying to sound politely interested rather than slightly devastated. 

“Together?” Louis’ nose crinkled in confusion. “What do you—oh,” he breathed, comprehension dawning on his face. “Harry, Zayn’s not—I’m not dating Zayn,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly casting his eyes downward.

Harry could have sworn he heard a chorus of angels singing. “You’re not?” he asked quickly, hating himself for the naked hopefulness that he could hear in his own voice. 

The air seemed to crackle between them as Louis shook his head, looking up through his lashes and fixing him to the spot with those blue, blue, fucking _blue_ eyes. Harry momentarily felt a bit dizzy.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m not dating anyone, actually,” he added quietly.

 

High on the discovery that Louis was not, in fact, dating a brooding, supermodel-type, Harry felt the urge to say something reckless, something that would get Louis’ attention and make his intentions crystal fucking clear.

Something like, _“Maybe you should date me,”_ or maybe, _“Can I take you upstairs and fuck your brains out?”_ On second thought, maybe not. 

“Good to know,” he drawled after a long moment, not even bothering to try and conceal the big, dopy grin that had spread across his face at Louis’ words. 

He felt his heartbeat accelerate at Louis’ own delighted smile, a wonderful, impossibly bright thing that inexplicably reminded him of lazy Sunday afternoons and the smell of sunblock. 

“It’s good that no one wants to date me?” Louis asked wryly, his grin twisting into something impish and playful. 

“Good for me,” Harry said, feeling his extremities tingling at his own boldness.

“Why? Are you going to set me up with Liam? Because he’s quite fit.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, stubbornly ignoring the tiny flood of panic erupting in the most irrational part of his brain. "Pretty sure Liam's fiance might have a few objections that.” 

Harry felt oddly buoyant as Louis chuckled and replied, “Yeah, he never shuts up about it. It’s a bit sickening, innit?”

“Oh, completely!” Harry laughed. 

“But fiancé aside, Liam’s not really my type," Louis said, his voice dropping just a bit. "Plus I’ve already got my eye on someone else,” he said, his grin gone, replaced by a purposeful, almost searing look.

“Oh?” Harry breathed, forcing himself to stare right back.

Louis nodded thoughtfully. “His Harry Potter jokes are pretty shit, but his arse looks really good in scrubs, especially the pink ones.”

Harry had stopped breathing and his brain had stopped working and his heart had stopped beating. “He sounds like a keeper, that one,” he said after a long moment, going for a joking tone but landing on a slightly croaky one instead.

Louis shrugged nonchalantly, but his lips twitched and his eyes glimmered a brilliant turquoise. 

 

“Dr. Styles! There you are!” A woman’s voice jolted Harry sharply out of what felt like a Louis-induced trance. He remembered with a start that they were in public, that there were other people in the world and more specifically in the room.

He looked around wildly and spotted the anesthetist who had travelled from a hospital in Brighton to assist with the next day’s surgery.  “I’ve just been by your room and you weren’t there, so I figured I’d pop by the lobby and look for you here! I just had a few questions about the procedure tomorrow if you don’t—.” She looked between Harry and Louis and then frowned apologetically. “Oh, you’re in the middle of dinner! I’m so sorry to interrupt!” she said, taking a step backwards.

“Not at all,” Louis interjected with a polite smile, sliding several bills out his wallet and smoothly rising from his seat. “We were almost finished and I’m knackered anyways, so I’ll just be off.” He turned to Harry and something in his face softened in a way that made Harry’s insides squirm. It was fond and almost tender and way too fucking much. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Haz.”

“Y-yeah. G’night, Lou,” Harry said shakily.

“Sleep well,” Louis murmured. _“Fat chance of that,”_ Harry thought to himself, because he would definitely be spending the rest of the night reliving the last hour of his life and wondering whether he and Louis had just gone on the best and strangest date ever. And also wanking furiously as he imagined sinking to his knees and peeling the stupid, tight slacks Louis was wearing down his thick, gorgeous thighs, revealing his perfect, glorious bum.

He definitely had a problem. Liam and Sophia were going to give him so much shit.

* * *

Six o’clock came too early the next morning. It didn’t help that Louis had spent much of the night tossing and turning and trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do about Harry and the article.

He had been delusional thinking that he could let the profile hit newsstands and neatly disappear from Harry’s life forever. Inconvenient as it might be, what he felt for Harry was huge and tingly and great and not likely to go away anytime soon.

He’d never wanted anyone like this—had never wanted to make someone breakfast in bed just to see the look on their face; had never tortured himself imagining what it would be like to take them apart with his mouth and his hands; had never felt like he’d gladly give up all of his belongings just to see them smile. The more he’d shoved it down these past few weeks, the worse it had gotten and now it was just fucking everywhere. The guilt of having Harry look at him the way he did—all soft and careful—with no idea what Louis had written about him turned his stomach.

 

So, yeah. Six o’clock came much too early. Nonetheless, Harry looked bright-eyed and cheerful when they met in front of the car at 6:15.  “I popped down the street and got muffins from Starbucks,” he said with a shy grin that did something strange and fluttery to Louis’ stomach. “Don’t worry, no nuts! I checked,” he winked. “And tea, since you’re not a coffee drinker.”

Louis accepted the paper cup, brushing his fingers against Harry for a lingering moment and shooting him the biggest smile he could manage this early in the morning. “Bless you,” he said gratefully, his voice still slightly sleep-raspy.

The ride to the hospital was mostly quiet, that sleepy, syrupy silence that only happens early in the morning. Louis sensed a certain rigidity behind Harry’s chirpiness, so he tried to calm his nerves, making jokes and mindless chatter and feeling far too pleased with himself when Harry’s dimples popped.

 When they arrived, Harry was swept away by the chief of surgery and Louis faded into the background. The surgery wasn’t supposed to begin until early that afternoon, so he spent the next couple of hours scouting out the hospital’s coziest waiting area and frantically trying to find Liam Payne’s phone number on London Bridge Hospital’s website.

A half-baked plan had formed in his mind in the wee hours of the morning and getting ahold of Harry’s best mate was the first step. After a 15-minute conversation with a suspicious-sounding Liam, Louis spent the rest of the morning researching a free clinic on the East End and emailing the clinic’s director to request an interview.

By the time he was getting settled in the front row of the gallery at noon, Louis felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in a week. When the surgical team entered the operating room ten minutes later, Louis spotted Harry at once by his favorite pastel pink scrubs.  He looked up into the gallery and waved at Louis, who pulled a stupid face and shot him a thumbs up. Harry’s mouth was covered by his surgery mask, but his eyes crinkled so Louis knew he was smiling. He looked less tense than he had in the car that morning and Louis felt himself relax into his seat.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Harry said to the room at large. The rest of his team murmured their assent and bustled about the operating table, preparing surgical instruments and taking their places. There was a palpable shift in the room after Harry made the first incision. Conversation died down and time seemed to pass by the steady rhythm of the heart rate monitor and the quiet, steady timbre of Harry’s voice as he requested scalpel and calipers and forceps.

 

One hour turned into two and from what Louis could tell, the surgery was going well. From his birds-eye view of the OR, he could see Harry’s hands moving with a firmness and precision that didn’t waver. It was weirdly attractive, and he spent much of the first couple of hours squirming in his seat and watching Harry more closely than was professionally necessary.

After the two hour mark, Louis slipped out to grab a sandwich and return a call from his mum.  When he got back to the gallery, he immediately sensed a strain in the room that hadn’t been there when he’d left. The monitors were beeping more urgently now and the whole team seemed restless, throwing each other worried glances.

Harry’s voice blared through the gallery’s shitty speaker. “Patient’s BP is spiking. Bovie.” The steely edge in his voice was barely detectable, but Louis caught it. He rushed back into his seat and leaned forward to peer more closely into the OR.

After almost three weeks, he still wasn’t totally accustomed to the sight of blood and there seemed to be a lot more of it than usual. Louis wondered if that meant something had gone wrong when Harry announced, “We’re going to have to do a trach. Scalpel, please.”

Louis recalled what Harry had told him yesterday in the car: “the biggest risk is that we have to do a tracheotomy and the patient ends up choking on his own blood.” He suppressed a shiver.

“Are you sure that a trach’s the best option?” a man in dark green scrubs asked urgently.

“Dr. Styles, the patient’s blood oxygen is at 70% and dropping,” a nurse said.  “BP’s dropping as well. We’re at 90 over 70,” another nurse added, sounding scared.

Louis had never been in a surgery that had gone bad like this and he was blown away by how quickly everything was happening. He had no idea how Harry was keeping his grip.

“Making the incision,” Harry said steadily, poising his scalpel over the patient’s throat and making a tiny cut. “Inserting the tube." He stood stock still, brow furrowed. His team watched him as he watched a monitor to his right.  The tinny beeping of the machines was the only noise in the OR for what felt like a decade but was probably less than a minute.

Finally, Harry said, “Trach’s in,” and one of the nurses murmured, “Blood oxygen and BP both rising. Heart rate stable,” and it seemed as though the entire room released a collective sigh of relief. Up in the gallery, Louis let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

 

After more than five hours, Harry announced that he’d sewn up the final incision and the operating room, as well as Louis and the rest of the people in the gallery, burst into applause.  “Styles is incredible,” one doctor murmured to Louis, who beamed and felt a wholly unjustified surge of pride. “He is, isn’t he?”

Louis found Harry outside the OR fifteen minutes later, changed out of his mask, cap, gloves, and surgery gown. Before he even realized that he’d decided to do so, Louis launched himself at Harry and enveloped him in a tight hug.  Harry smelled antiseptic, like gauze and metal and hand sanitizer. It usually would have grossed Louis out. He inhaled deeper. “That was amazing. You were amazing,” he murmured into Harry’s hair.

When Harry pulled away, he blinked twice, then beamed. “It was so scary,” he said giddily. “I thought I was fucked for a minute there during the jaw reconstruction, but then we pulled through. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a surgical team that good.” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. “I feel a bit wired,” he confessed breathlessly.

“You need dinner. And maybe a pint or two,” Louis announced sagely. “I’m buying.”

Harry’s smile widened. “That honestly sounds amazing. I’d kill for a burger right about now.”

“Burgers it is!” Louis said. “The only thing is that I just met one of the other doctors who scrubbed in with you and he agreed to sit down for a quick chat. It’ll be 10 minutes, tops,” he added apologetically.

Harry waved him off. “I need a shower and real clothes anyway, so I’ll take care of that and you do your interview and then we can meet out front in 15.”

 

Predictably, the doctor who Louis interviewed had nothing but wonderful things to say about Harry. “I’ve never seen someone so young run an OR like he does. He’s got a gift, that one.” Louis grinned like an idiot, scribbled some notes, thanked the doctor for his time, and headed for the lobby.

He felt keyed up and fidgety. He told himself that it was from being stuck in an uncomfortable chair all day, but a small part of him knew that it had much more to do with Harry. A fter dinner, he and Harry would be going back to the hotel, gloriously alone and entirely devoid of responsibility. He thought about the tension that had crackled palpably between them the night before and then felt like he was crawling out of his own skin. 

* * *

When Harry spotted Louis from across the lobby, he was absent-mindedly thumbing through his ever-present notepad and smiling to himself. With his oversized jumper and ruffled fringe, he looked dreamy and soft—like the last rays of afternoon sunlight streaming through a window.

Harry laughed and rolled his eyes at his own absurdity. The surgery must have made him a bit loopy if he was comparing Louis to the actual sun.

“What are you so happy about?” he asked, making Louis jump.

“Just the burger I’m about to eat,” Louis replied with a crooked grin. “I Yelped a place that looks good. S’not far from here.”

Harry’s stomach grumbled loudly and they both looked down at it before Louis bust out laughing.

“Shut up! I haven’t eaten in like 12 hours!”

Louis hummed. “Been a bit busy, have you?”

Harry shrugged, biting down on his lip to keep it from curling upwards. “Just a bit.”

 

Dinner was a pile of greasy napkins and laughing until his stomach hurt and resisting the urge to lick beer foam off of Louis’ upper lip.

Harry’s brain felt mushy after the many hours it had spent in overdrive and Louis seemed to sense it because he was wonderfully loud and unreserved while they ate their burgers, leaving Harry to listen and steal chips off of Louis’ plate and look at Louis’ lips while he talked.

Louis spent an hour and a half describing some of his more ridiculous assignments with the newspaper and doing terrifyingly accurate impressions of Grimmy and telling Harry about his best mates, Zayn and Niall. It was fun and stupid and comfortable in a way that Harry didn’t want to think too hard about.

He wasn’t even embarrassed about the fact that he could happily sit there and watch Louis talk for at least the next several hours. He had noticed over the course of the evening that Louis’ eyes could go from electric blue to a stormy gray-green in a matter of seconds. They lit alive with a teasing cobalt blue when he was telling a story then turned a dark, tempestuous sea green when he started ranting about the state of political journalism.

It had been almost half an hour since Louis had paid the bill and their waiter was starting to shoot annoyed looks at them from across the restaurant by the time Harry said, “Are you ready to go back to the hotel?”  Louis looked down and ran two fingers over his lips in a way that looked like he wasn’t even conscious of it. He gulped and Harry tracked the movement greedily. “Back to the hotel,” he repeated uncertainly.  Harry nodded. He wasn’t quite sure why, but his heart had begun to thud a little harder in his chest.

The car ride was full of a crackling silence that made Harry feel slightly shivery. When they were stopped at a light, Harry glanced over at Louis and saw that he was already staring at him, the fluorescence of the stoplight swimming in his wide blue eyes.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, his voice coming out shakier than he’d meant it to.

Louis smiled like he knew something that Harry didn’t. “Nothing,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. They stayed suspended like that for a long moment, just staring and breathing.Louis broke the silence, murmuring, “Light’s green, Harold,” and shifting back into his seat.

Harry exhaled shakily and turned his attention back to the road. He could smell a hint of Louis’ shampoo or cologne or whatever made him smell like lemons and lavender. He desperately wanted to be back at the hotel but he wasn’t sure he ever wanted the drive to end.

 

“We’re here,” Harry announced once he pulled into a parking spot. “We are,” Louis agreed. Neither of them moved. A few seconds stretched into something that could have been a minute or an hour before something flickered across Louis’ face. “Harry, we need to talk about the article,” he said softly.

Harry blinked. He didn’t want to talk about the article. He had managed to forget about the bloody article, forget about the fact that Louis was only here because he had to be.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Today was—a lot.”

Louis frowned, blue eyes stormy, but he nodded and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You must be tired.”

He wasn’t tired. He was restless and jumpy and turned on, but Louis had already opened his door and stepped out of the car, so Harry didn’t get the chance to say any of that (which was probably for the best, honestly).

 

The lobby felt bright and oddly suffocating after the velvety darkness of the car. Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Louis’ face illuminated by street lamps and the dull sparkle of inevitability that had been simmering between them for the last two weeks. Maybe he was being dramatic, but the idea of leaving Louis and going back to his room alone made him want to cry and drink the entire contents of his minibar.

He was going out of his mind and Louis was fidgeting more than usual, prattling on mindlessly about check-out the next morning and whether traffic would be bad on the ride back.  They waited for the lift and Louis picked at his nails and rambled and looked anywhere but at Harry.  When the lift tinkled to announce its arrival, they both stepped on and Louis reached for the number pad. “What floor were you again?” he asked.

“Twelfth,” Harry murmured. Louis nodded, pressing down the number 12. He hesitated for a long moment before reaching for his own floor, hovering his finger over the button and exhaling a small, reluctant sigh.  It was all the confirmation Harry needed.

He waited for the doors to close and took a large step forward so that he was bracketing Louis against the back wall of the lift. He was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Louis’ body; close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed; close enough to count every one of his eyelashes. He had never, ever wanted to kiss someone so badly.

“If I did, would you?” Harry breathed, looking Louis straight in the face.

Louis took a shaky breath. He didn’t even look surprised. “I shouldn’t,” he murmured, but he didn’t move away and his gaze flickered down to Harry’s lips for a lingering moment before returning to his eyes.

“That’s not what I asked,” Harry replied, his voice husky.

“Harry,” Louis said weakly, leaning forward and gripping Harry’s arm at the crook of his elbow, bringing them even closer.  Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, breathing in the sharp, citrusy scent that he’d come to associate with Louis.

Then Louis’ lips crashed into his, hard and urgent, punching all the air out of his lungs. It felt like Louis was everywhere, sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip and warm hands closing tightly around his waist and hips surging forward eagerly to meet his. He tasted like the peppermint gum Harry had offered him in the car and the beer he’d had with dinner. It was a sensory overload and Harry was drowning but he never wanted it to end.

The lift dinged and jolted to a stop and when Louis pulled away, he shuddered like he’d been delivered an electric shock. He licked his lips, already red and shiny with saliva, and looked between the door and Harry.

“I should—uh, I should go, I think,” he said, sounding dazed and unfocused.

“Y-you don’t have to,” Harry stammered breathlessly, his eyes falling shut with the weight of how badly he wanted Louis. “Come up to mine. Please.”

Louis squeezed his own eyes shut, looking pained. “I—just need a moment. I’ve—m’sorry, Haz. I’ve got to go.”

* * *

Louis had his phone out of his pocket before the elevator door was even shut all the way. He dialed James through a haze of adrenaline. He didn’t care that it was 9 o’clock on a Saturday night and he didn’t care that James was probably going to kill him for what he was about to do. He didn’t care about anything that wasn’t Harry Styles and his lips and his voice and the way he smelled like fresh laundry.

He cursed when James’ cell went straight to voicemail, but rallied by the time he heard the tinny beep of the answering machine. 

“James, it’s Louis. We need to talk about the Styles profile, as soon as possible. But I—we can’t publish the draft I gave to you and Simon yesterday. I’ll explain everything next week, but I’m going to rewrite it and it’s going to be even better. I just need a bit more time. Anyways—er, hope you’re having a nice week-end and I’ll—uh, see you on Monday. Cheers.”

 

After that, Louis’ brain turned off. He only vaguely registered returning to his room, brushing his teeth so that he no longer tasted like a burger, and catching the lift up to the twelfth floor.

When Harry opened the door, his shirt was untucked and his lips were puffy and his eyes were dark and Louis had never seen anything more gorgeous.  He stared at Louis in that brooding, slightly unsettling way of his for a very long moment, giving nothing away. When five seconds had passed and Louis felt like he was about to die, he took a tentative step forward and blurted out, “I would really, really like to have sex with you.”

“Thank fuck,” Harry breathed at once, grabbing Louis by the arm and pulling him into the room.

Harry’s room was both much bigger and much nicer than Louis’. Another time, he might have been annoyed about it. At the moment, he was trying not to completely lose his shit. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, his voice coming out breathless and giddy.

“Please stop talking,” Harry said, bridging the space between them and ducking his head to bring their lips together.

Louis laughed into Harry’s mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice, his lips insistent and his hands already tugging at the bottom of Louis’ jumper.

Louis pulled away and dropped a light kiss onto the corner of Harry’s lip. “Slow down, love. M’not going anywhere.”

Harry shuddered and then his whole face relaxed into a wide, blissed-out smile. “Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice syrupy-slow.

The next kiss was less urgent than any of the other ones. It was deeper and slower and somehow  _more._  Louis relaxed into it and felt his whole body tingle with the feeling that everything between them was suddenly and wonderfully limitless.

* * *

Somehow, Harry’s brain was cataloguing every detail of this moment with razor sharp precision while simultaneously swimming through a syrupy haze. It was almost like he could feel the dopamine welling up in his brain, making everything go wonderfully soft around the edges.

“Love kissing you. Like your lips,” Harry murmured against Louis’ mouth after what could've been five minutes or five hours.

Louis hummed. “I think I’ve literally had dreams about your lips,” he admitted. “They’re very red. You don’t secretly wear lipstick, do you?”

“Well, it’s not a secret anymore.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled as he cradled a hand around the nape of Harry's neck. “You giant—.” He smacked his lips against Harry’s. “Fucking—.” Another kiss. “Dork.”

 

They stood in the middle of the room snogging like teenagers for an indeterminate length of time and even though Harry could feel himself getting harder in his stupid tight pants, he didn’t really mind. Louis kissed like he talked, warm and fervent and unpredictable. He was all sharp teeth and gorgeous little whimpering noises and slick drags of tongue. Harry was already fucking ruined.

“Looks like someone’s happy to see me,” Louis grinned impishly, slipping his hand between their bodies and rubbing his palm over the clear outline of Harry’s cock.

“You dirty hypocrite!” Harry laughed, grinding into the firm warmth of Louis’ hand, his breath catching. “You’ve been hard for a good ten minutes now.”

Louis shrugged, then tugged his sweater over his head and turned for the massive king bed, hips swaying languidly. Harry ogled his arse unapologetically, reveling in the fact that he was allowed to.

He nearly tripped over Louis’ shirt in his haste to follow him to the bed and by the time he made it, Louis was laughing at him with a kind of exasperated fondness that made his mind go even more pleasantly tingly.

“Come up here and kiss me some more, Curly,” Louis smiled, patting the spot next to him. Harry obliged, flopping gracelessly onto the bed and bringing their lips together even though he was grinning too widely to make it a real kiss.

 

Louis pulled away and tucked a curl behind Harry’s ear. “What do you want?” he asked earnestly.

“Anything,” Harry breathed, his breath hitching as Louis thumbed along the hem of his shirt and ducked his head to nose at the soft skin underneath. Catching his breath was becoming more of a challenge with every second that passed.

“Want to give you more than that,” Louis mused, shucking Harry’s shirt up to his armpits and lapping at one of Harry’s nipples with a broad stroke of his tongue. “Want to give you whatever you want.”

He scooted up the bed so that he could pull Harry’s shirt all the way off and mouth at his neck, nipping sharply then soothing his tongue over the same spot. Harry could already feel the skin there beginning to tingle and redden. It was a little painful but also wonderfully warm and wet. Harry felt a bit like he was floating. “Want to—want to fuck you. But first I—fuck, do that again—first I wanna suck your cock.”

Harry liked sucking cock and more importantly, he was  _good_ at it. He had spent a shameful amount of time over the past several weeks thinking about what it would be like to suck Louis’ cock—the pretty, breathy noises he’d make and and the way he’d bite down on his pretty lips and pull at Harry’s hair and fuck into Harry’s mouth until he was choking on it.

 

“I’ve wanted your mouth on me for so long, you have no idea,” Louis whispered, thumbing at Harry’s bottom lip. Harry sucked Louis’ thumb into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, staring up at Louis and lapping eagerly at his finger, giving him a preview of exactly what his mouth could do.

Louis’ pupils dilated noticeably and he cursed under his breath, using his free hand to comb gently through Harry’s hair. Louis’ jaw dropped. “Jesus,” he groaned, surging forward to kiss Harry again. “You’re a fucking dream, you know that?” he murmured into Harry’s neck.

“Don’t say that until you know whether I’m any good or not,” Harry grinned, sliding down the bed until his was at face-level with the zipper of Louis’ jeans and nuzzling the fabric to feel the outline of his cock and humming low in his throat.

He glanced up and saw Louis staring at him with something close to reverence, bottom lip sucked between his teeth and eyes dark and hooded. Harry smirked and slowly, theatrically lowered his head to unzip Louis’ jeans with his teeth.

Louis muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Show off,” but then Harry got a hand around him and started mouthing at the head of his cock, which effectively shut him up.  Harry lapped lightly up the length of Louis’ cock until he started making impatient little sounds at the back of his throat. He wrapped one hand around the base and took Louis down as far as he could go, pumping his hand up to meet his mouth. “Jesus fuck,” Louis cursed, throwing his head back and biting some more at his lips.

Harry hummed around Louis’ cock, sucking harder and ducking his head until he felt a tickle at the back of his throat. Louis moaned unabashedly and made a small, involuntary thrusting motion with his hips. “Sorry,” he murmured at once.

“You can fuck my mouth,” Harry said hoarsely. “I like it.”

When Louis spoke, his words came out a little slurred. “The thing is that if I do that, I’m going to come in about five seconds and I’d kind of like you to fuck me before that happens.”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, giving Louis’ cock a final lick and easing back up the bed.

 

“Flip over,” Harry said, tracing his mouth over Louis’ stomach, nibbling at the soft skin there and then moving upwards, over Louis’ chest and then to his neck and jaw and finally to his lips.  Louis squirmed and shuffled so that he was on his stomach, looking over his shoulder at Harry, who was watching with his mouth slightly ajar.

“Could you take your pants off, please? I’m feeling very naked down here,” Louis grinned. Harry was suddenly aware of how hard his dick was. “Yeah, good point,” he said, shimmying out of his jeans and briefs as quickly as he could.

Once he was naked, Harry hovered over Louis and kissed a line up his back and between his shoulder-blades. “I’m genuinely obsessed with your arse,” he confessed, grabbing a palmful and nuzzling into his neck. “Don’t think I’ve stopped thinking about it for more than five minutes since I met you.”

“Oi, you better not be thinking about my arse during surgery.”

“Only during the easy ones,” Harry assured him, ghosting two fingers between the cleft of Louis’ arse and over his hole.

Louis jolted, his eyes widening. “Oh fuck, what about condoms and stuff?” he asked, suddenly sounding devastated.

“In the side pocket of my suitcase,” Harry replied immediately.

“Someone’s awfully prepared,” Louis remarked as he shifted to the edge of the bed and crouched down to retrieve a condom and lube from Harry’s bag.

“I keep them with my toiletry stuff,” Harry lied feebly. Louis said nothing, eyebrow raised skeptically. “Fine, I packed them on purpose! You can’t blame a man for hoping, can you?”

Louis rolled his eyes and tossed the wrapper to Harry, uncapping the small bottle of lube and rubbing some between his fingers. “What’re you doing?” Harry asked, brow furrowing.

“Getting ready for you. Your dick’s pretty fucking big, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Let me get you ready,” Harry murmured, taking the bottle from Louis and pouring a generous amount onto his fingertips. “You sure?” Louis asked, sounding slightly embarrassed.

Harry wanted to dick punch any guy who'd ever made Louis feel like fingering him open wasn't a fucking privilege.  “Lou, it’s like what I want most in the world. Wanna finger you until you cry. Don’t make me beg,” he breathed in Louis’ ear, biting at his earlobe.

Louis shuddered and sank back onto his stomach, legs parting invitingly, putting miles of perfect, bronze skin on display.  Harry allowed himself a moment to take in the sight of Louis all spread out for him before sliding between his legs and latching his spare hand onto Louis’ hip to anchor both of them.

He spent several long moments licking up Louis’ back, relishing the salty taste of sweat and the little impatient noises that Louis had started making before  pushing the first finger inside with no warning, making Louis gasp and curse into a pillow. Harry petted absently at Louis’ hair and whispered nonsense into his ear while he allowed his body to accommodate the stretch, reveling in the way that he could hear Louis’ breathing speed up. “You’re gonna feel so good for me. So tight, fuck I can hardly wait.”

He slipped in a second finger when Louis had started to grind into the mattress, seeking friction against his cock. After a moment, he pumped his fingers and scissored them apart gingerly. Louis huffed out a sharp breath and squirmed a bit and Harry rubbed soothingly at his hip.  “Another,” Louis ordered tightly after less than a minute. Harry mouthed at his neck and added a third finger, which produced a raspy whine from Louis that went straight to Harry’s dick.

 “Fucking shit,” Louis hissed after several long moments. “Get on with it already, Harold.”

“You’re not the one who’s dick’s about to fall off,” Harry muttered. “You should see how fucking hot you look right now.”

Louis hid his smug little smile in the crook of one elbow so Harry settled for kissing the spot where his forehead met his hairline before fumbling with the condom wrapper with lube-sticky fingers.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Give it to me,” he murmured impatiently, ripping the foil open with his teeth and rolling the condom over Harry’s cock. He kissed Harry slick and dirty for several agonizingly glorious minutes, all the while tugging insistently at Harry's cock. Harry was so completely fucking  _ruined_.

Eventually, Louis grinned into Harry’s mouth and nipped at his bottom lip, then slid back onto his stomach, arching his back and sticking out his bum. “M’ready,” he rasped, his blue eyes darker than Harry had ever seen them. For a long moment, Harry lay there transfixed.

“Yeah, me too,” he said at last, shuffling forward on his knees and lining up behind Louis. Watching his cock disappear into Louis’ arse was something close to a religious experience. It had been a long time since Harry had slept with a guy, but surely it hadn’t always felt this incredible, warm and so tight that he could almost feel his lungs contracting in his chest. 

Once he’d bottomed out, he thrusted shallowly, murmuring, “S’that okay?” against Louis’ left shoulder-blade. His voice was absolutely wrecked and he didn’t think he could speak above a whisper if he tried. Louis nodded frantically and rolled his arse backwards, taking Harry even deeper. Harry kind of wanted to die so that this would be his last sight on Earth. He was too far gone to even recognize this for the absolute absurdity that it was.

He grabbed hard onto Louis’ hip and thrusted as deeply as he could. Louis scrabbled to grab ahold of the bedpost for leverage and moaned so loud that it was almost a shout.

“You’re going to wake the neighbors,” Harry panted, fucking into Louis in earnest and tangling the hand that wasn’t at Louis’ hip into his hair. Louis managed to flip him the bird and roll his hips back at the same time and Harry was truly, genuinely impressed.

“Fuck, Harry, right fucking there,” he muttered. “That’s—yeah, s’good.” Harry scooted higher onto his knees and went as deep as he could go. His thighs were already burning, but he didn’t give a single fuck. His mind was a sloppy, soupy mess of  _“Yes,”_ and  _“Louis,”_  and  _More_.”

Harry lost all sense of time and place as he frantically chased his orgasm, eventually reaching down to jerk Louis off with as much finesse as he could manage given the awkward positioning. He was practically latched onto Louis’ back, sucking at a spot just below his ear.

Louis whimpered and did some kind of mysterious black magic hip thrust-swivel-motion and Harry swore that he blacked out for a good three seconds. When he returned to his senses, he was still coming and Louis was right behind him, tugging on his own cock as he came undone.

For at least a minute, the room was silent save for the sound of both of them trying to catch their breath. Finally, Harry eased out of Louis, tossed the condom towards the bin, and flopped onto his back, breathing heavily. “Where—,” Louis panted, rolling from his back to his side, “—did you learn how to fuck like that?” Harry shrugged. “Los Angeles,” he replied, reluctantly easing out of bed so he could fetch them a towel to clean off with.

“Do you wanna snooze and then maybe order some late-night room service?” he asked once he’d returned.

“I think that might be the best idea you’ve ever had, Harold,” Louis yawned. “Though I should probably hop in the shower at some point. M’disgusting.”

“You smell great to me,” Harry grinned, nosing at his collarbone. “That’s because you’re all gross and sweaty too, innit?” Louis said, but he smiled fondly and wriggled closer and Harry couldn’t remember ever feeling lighter or higher or happier.


	6. -6-

There had been a moment in the car on Saturday night when Louis had been teetering on the edge of telling Harry everything—what he had written and why he had written it and how he was going to fix it. 

The guilt of Harry not knowing had been clawing stubbornly at the back of his mind from the second Harry had dropped him off at his flat on Sunday afternoon with a long, dirty kiss and a painfully earnest “Can’t wait to see you again.” The idea of starting whatever he and Harry were doing now without telling him about the profile made his stomach feel like it had been twisted into tight knots.

“Is it terrible that he doesn’t know?” Louis asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Well, there’s really no point in telling him, is there?” Niall offered through a large bite of a bacon sandwich. “Not now that you’re rewriting the profile.”

Zayn frowned. “I dunno. Think I might want to know if it was me.”

Niall snorted. “What’s Lou supposed to say? I thought you were a right arse when I met you but now that we’re fucking I’ve changed me mind? I’m sure Harry’d love that.”

“Better than him finding out from someone else,” Zayn argued.

“Who’s gonna tell ‘im?” Niall demanded incredulously. 

Louis zoned out as his best mates continued to bicker. Deep down, he knew that telling Harry about the article was no longer an option, not when there was a possibility that it would make Harry hate him. Louis couldn’t risk that now that he knew what he’d be losing—waking up with tangled limbs and snogging through morning breath and bickering with no heat over who got the last slice of toast from the breakfast platter.

 

James poked his head into Louis’ office, interrupting his daydreams. He did not look pleased. He glowered at Niall and Zayn, who were perched precariously on either side of Louis’ desk. 

“Malik, you have until noon to get that Theresa May cartoon to Grimshaw. And Niall, don’t you have a football match or something to write about?”

Zayn rolled his eyes behind James’ back and Niall muttered a sarcastic “Ay ay, captain,” but both of them rose from the desk and slunk out the door.

“Louis. My office. Now,” James said sharply, turning for the door before Louis had a chance to reply.

“Right,” Louis said to the empty office. This was his chance to convince James and he absolutely could not, under any circumstances, fuck it up. 

When he got to James’ office, his boss was already sitting behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “A few weeks ago, I stuck my neck out for a certain writer who told me that he wanted to take an untraditional angle on a story,” James started once Louis had taken a seat. “I initially had my doubts, but he was _so sure_ that finally, he convinced me.”

“James—,” Louis started, but his boss but him off. “So imagine my surprise when that very same writer called me in the middle of the night on Saturday to inform me that he’d changed his mind and that he didn’t want to write the story after all.” He exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. “What the hell is going on with you, Tomlinson?”

“You’ve got to hear me out,” Louis said urgently. “I had it wrong the first time and I’m sorry about that. But I have some new information that I would be remiss not to include in the profile.”

James was still glaring at Louis, but he hadn’t interrupted him yet, so Louis took that as permission to continue. “I did some digging and found out that Harr—er, Dr. Styles is involved at this free clinic that provides emergency services to LGBT and homeless youth. He mentioned the charity in passing a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t tell me that he spends almost every weekend volunteering there and that he helped secure a grant to keep the place running. It’s incredible, James, and it’s the story I want to tell.”

James studied him for a long moment and when he finally spoke again, he sounded almost pitying. “Louis, we don’t have time to make big changes like that.”

“There are three weeks until this issue goes to press. Just give me that time to rewrite. Please,” Louis said, not even ashamed of the overtly pleading note in his voice.

“We need you back on other projects, Tommo,” James sighed. 

“I’ll work on other stories while I do the rewrites. I’ll work overtime. You don’t even have to pay me for the extra hours,” Louis said quickly.

James ran a hand down his face, but when he looked up at Louis, he had a reluctant smile on his face. “You really like him, huh?”

“So much,” Louis nodded, not even bothering to try and hide his stupid, dreamy smile. 

“Simon’s not going to like this,” James said slowly. “But—I think we can make it work.”

Louis beamed. “You’re sure? You really think so?” 

“If you say this is the better story then I believe you.”

“What about Simon? What if he likes the other one better?” Louis asked anxiously.

James cracked a smile at that. “Simon might be the editor-in-chief, but Influential Londoners is my column. I reckon you’ll be fine.”

Louis leapt from his seat and flung himself at James, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek. “You’re the fucking best! You won’t regret this, James!”

James shooed him away with an exasperated grin. “I already do. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.”

* * *

Harry was just scrubbing out of a chin tuck on Tuesday afternoon when he got a text from Louis. As soon as he saw the notification, he beamed and gave an involuntary fist pump that startled a nearby nurse.

“Any chance you’re not sick of me after last weekend and want to grab dinner tonight?” the text read. Harry allowed himself a long moment to revel in the knowledge that Louis Tomlinson was asking him out on what was almost definitely a date.

He had maybe totally spent every second since he’d dropped Louis off on Sunday glued to his phone waiting for Louis to reach out and convincing himself that it wasn’t going to happen, that Louis had just wanted a one-time thing and that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life with nothing but the memory of the most outstanding sex he’d ever had.

“Why’re you grinning like an idiot?” a familiar voice inquired, making Harry look up from his phone. Liam was standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, studying Harry suspiciously.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not allowed to be happy now?” he asked, his foolish grin widening as he recited Louis’ text in his mind to assure himself that he hadn’t imagined it. Liam rolled his eyes. “You look more than just happy, Haz. All dreamy and blissed-out and—.” Liam’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! You _did_ sleep with the journalist, didn’t you?” he demanded, pointing at Harry accusingly. 

“What? How did you—what?” Harry asked, his voice a good octave higher than normal.

“Sophia told me that you looked all sexed-up when you came to pick up the dogs and I told her you were probably still wired from the surgery—.”

“Thanks for asking how that went, by the way,” Harry cut in dryly. Liam flipped him the bird and continued, “But she was right, wasn’t she? You hooked up with Louis in Birmingham?”

“I don’t think it’s normal for someone to have this much interest in their friend’s sex life,” Harry scoffed, but his voice was still coming out slightly strangled and a flush was burning high on his cheeks and the smug little smile on Liam’s face told him that he’d given himself away.

“Fine! You caught me, Inspector Cousteau! We slept together! Happy?”

“No, I’m not!” Liam said, suddenly frowning. “Harry, he’s dating someone else!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s not dating someone else, you tit.”

Liam narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“What are you, my mum?” Harry laughed. “Of course I’m sure! Can we get lunch now?”

 

Harry spent the rest of the day trying to talk down the wriggling tendrils of nerves that were salsa dancing around his stomach. Under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital, Birmingham and the weekend suddenly felt a world away. 

What if Louis was asking him to dinner so that he could say they were better as friends or that what they’d done was unprofessional and inappropriate and should never happen again? What if what they’d done _had been_ unprofessional and inappropriate and should never happen again? Also what in the hell was he supposed to wear?

He spent a good fifteen minutes pacing a path around his closet through his room and then to the bathroom mirror to frantically tousle his hair. Halfway through his sixth or seventh loop, he groaned and flopped dramatically onto his bed, reaching for his phone and dialing the only person he trusted to talk him off the ledge.

Gemma picked up on the second ring. “Hullo, brother!” she said cheerily. Harry’s response was a noncommittal grunt. 

“Is that any way to greet your favorite sibling?” she asked indignantly.

“Dusty’s my favorite sibling,” Harry grumbled.

“Dusty’s our cat, you knobhead. Now why are you calling? I’m very busy and important, you know.”

“I—ergh, I hate myself. It’s a guy. I’m calling about a fucking guy. I need your help, Gems,” he admitted with the overwhelming feeling that he’d just been transported back to sixth form.

Gemma cackled gleefully. “Oh my God, it’s just like when you were 15! Who was that guy you had that massive crush on in year 10?” Harry wondered if his sister could maybe read minds.

He buried his head in his pillow. “His name was Xander and yes, I know I’m completely pathetic. Louis makes me lose my mind a bit, I think.”

“Ooh, Louis,” Gemma crooned teasingly. “Tell me more about him. Where’d you meet?”

“Right well, that’s kind of a funny story, actually,” he said hesitantly because he had just realized that he’d neglected to mention the article to anyone in his family.

“Harry,” she said warningly. Gemma had an excellent Scary Older Sister Voice.

“He’s kind of a journalist who’s interviewing me for an article that _London Now Newspaper_ is writing about me,” he said all in one long breath.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gemma dead-panned. “There’s going to be an article written about you? Mum’s going to be furious that you didn’t tell her.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly chuffed when I first heard it was being written but Louis is—he’s incredible, Gems. He’s lovely and clever and he loves _The Great British Baking Show_ and I like him so, so much it’s kind of ridiculous.”

“I’m sensing there’s a but,” Gemma guessed.

“But I’m worried it’s moving too fast and I don’t want to freak him out because—well, you know how I am,” he finished uneasily.

“Way too nice and trusting for your own good? Yeah, I’m aware.”

“I was going to say clingy and prone to making an arse of myself, but I guess that works too.”

Gemma snorted. “Just talk to him, H. Ask him what he wants from whatever it is you’re doing and go from there. If he tells you he’s looking for something more casual then it’s probably not worth the heartbreak of getting attached. But you won’t know if you don’t ask.”

His older sister was wonderful and infinitely wise. Harry made a mental note to buy her a scented candle or something. For now, he made due with a sappy, “Love you a lot, big sis,” and several loud kissing noises.

* * *

Louis had never been so nervous for a date before, ever. It had taken him two days just to work up the nerve up to text Harry, and even then he technically hadn’t been the one to text him. Niall had gotten sick of listening to Louis talk about Harry and he’d sent the text from Louis’ phone. Louis was choosing not to dwell on that.

He knew he was being ridiculous, was the thing. He and Harry already knew each other; they’d already gotten all of the awkward small talk and stifling sexual tension out of the way. They’d slept together for Christ’s sake. Dinner should be no big deal. 

At the same time, Louis didn’t usually spend several weeks writing terrible things about people he dated, so clearly nothing about their relationship was how it should have been.

That’s what it went back to, he was fairly sure. He felt like now that he was rewriting the article, an invisible shift had occurred between them and somehow Harry would see him and immediately know all of the things that he’d written. It was bizarre and irrational and he was pretty sure he was losing his goddamn mind. Either that or his three days with next to no sleep was taking its toll. 

He’d been writing for the entertainment column  during the day and researching for the profile at night. He’d always been good with all-nighters at university, but maybe you stopped being able to operate on no sleep when you were a 26-year old quasi-adult with a proper job. 

In any case, he’d decided to take Harry to an Ethiopian restaurant in their neighborhood and if he didn’t get in the shower soon, he was going to be late. 

 

Louis was late. Niall had walked in the door just as Louis was wrapping a towel around his waist, causing him to let out a rather unmanly shriek and nearly piss his pants. “What’re you doing here?” he yelled, clutching a hand over his chest.

“West Ham’s playing the Tottenham Hotspurs,” Niall said as if this should have been obvious.

“What does that have to do with my flat?” Louis asked.

“You have a telly. And a fridge to hold this beer I just bought.” Louis groaned as he tugged on a clean jumper. “I can’t watch the game, mate. I’m about to walk out the door. Got that dinner with Harry, remember?”

Niall blinked. “What does that have to do with me watching the game here?”

“I’m confiscating your key,” Louis said flatly, grabbing his wallet, keys, and phone and shoving them all in the pocket of his coat.

“Zayn might come over later,” Niall called as he collapsed onto the couch.

“Please, please no funny business on the couch. Seriously, Ni.”

Niall shot him the bird over his shoulder. “That was one time.”

“Once was enough. I saw things I can’t unsee,” Louis murmured mutinously as he shut the door behind him.

By the time he’d half-jogged to Harry’s building, he was nearly ten minutes late and seriously out of breath. “I’m out of shape,” he mused as he sprinted up the stairs to Harry’s flat on the third floor.

Harry was waiting for him in the hall. “Louis!” he said as soon as Louis’ head had popped up over the top of the staircase.

“H-hi!” Louis panted, trying his best to covertly wipe the sweat from his brow and making a mental note to go to the gym soon. 

If Harry noticed his breathlessness when he leaned in to give Louis a hug and peck on the cheek, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he smiled winningly and gestured to the stairs. “Shall we?” he asked. 

 

Two hours later, they were leaving the restaurant and Louis was a bit tipsy on Ethiopian beer and positively stuffed from the vegetarian platter he and Harry had shared and wondering whether it would be weird to grab hold of Harry’s hand. Louis wasn’t generally the most tactile person, but it was quite cold outside and Harry was Harry and he really, really wanted to hold his hand. 

Louis let himself fall a step behind Harry, then called, “Oi, wait for me, long legs,” grabbing onto Harry’s elbow and sliding his hand down Harry’s arm until their fingers were tangled together. Harry grinned goofily and squeezed Louis’ hand; Louis took a moment to appreciate his own smoothness.

“I just realized I have no idea where we’re going,” Harry admitted breathlessly after several moments. 

“Where do you wanna go?” Louis asked with a suggestive smirk that usually would have made him feel like an idiot. Harry shrugged, his eyes falling to Louis’ lips. Louis decidedly did not feel like an idiot. He took a step forward, crowding into Harry’s space and feeling an overpowering zip of satisfaction and arousal when Harry’s hands immediately fell onto his hips and tugged him forward into a kiss that was a little too dirty for the public place but not dirty enough for Louis’ liking.

“We’re only like four blocks from my flat,” Louis whispered onto Harry’s lips. He felt Harry smile. “Yeah?” he murmured. Louis nodded. “You should come ov—.” He stopped speaking and jammed his eyes shut when he remembered that his flat was not currently empty. 

“Shit, I’ve forgotten. Niall’s there right now. He’s watching West Ham flatten Tottenham,” he said, choosing not to add that Zayn was probably there and they were most likely getting frisky on Louis’ couch. Sometimes he hated his mates.

“I didn’t know Niall was your flatmate,” Harry said, his eyebrows scrunched together.

Louis laughed, his breath a little puff of grey in the November chill. “He’s not, the prat. He just has no boundaries and my spare key.”

“You could—my flat’s not far if you want to come back with me?” Harry asked and Louis was helplessly, desperately endeared by the nervously hopeful note he could hear in Harry’s voice. He was arse over tit for an absolute idiot.

“If I come over to your flat, do I finally get to meet the dogs?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry laughed delightedly. “Yes! They’re going to love you! Well, they’d better because if they don’t, I’ll have to chuck you.”

“No pressure, then?” Louis said seriously.

“Shut up,” Harry said, hiding his grin in the collar of his jacket. Louis was so, ridiculously fond of him.

 

“I actually can’t believe how close our flats are,” Louis remarked as Harry unlocked his front door and flipped on the lights. “London’s fucking gigantic but we’re less than 10 minutes apart.”

“Right? I don’t even know anyone else in Bankside and we’ve practically been neighbors for the last six months,” Harry laughed. 

Louis didn’t get a chance to respond because the next moment, 100 pounds of furry, excited dog was pouncing on him and trying to lick any part of him she could reach. 

“Lucy, down,” Harry ordered, his stern tone seriously undermined by the fact that he was clearly trying not to laugh. “Sorry, she’s very friendly,” he said, not sounding at all sorry.

Louis rolled his eyes, but scratched the massive Great Dane behind the ears. “Hi, Lucy! I’ve heard all about you!”

Lucy cocked her head, examined him seriously, and leapt up so that her paws were resting on his shoulders. “S’nice to meet you too,” Louis chuckled, taking one of her paws and shaking it. At that, she jumped down and nuzzled her head against Louis’ leg. “Yeah, that’s pretty adorable,” Louis remarked, petting her huge head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis spotted another dog peaking its tiny head from around the kitchen doorframe, staring at him with wide, cautious brown eyes. She let out a tentative bark and cocked her head inquisitively at Harry.

“That’s Latte,” Harry said. “She’s shy around new people. C’mere baby,” he said, crooning the last sentence and clicking his tongue. She barked again and ran toward Harry, who scooped her up and turned to Louis. “Good girl! Can you say hello to Louis?” he said in the same ridiculous pet voice.

“What kind of self-respecting pet owner calls a dog Latte?” Louis asked, reaching forward to scratch behind the chihuahua’s ears. “Your owner’s an idiot who named you after a coffee drink, but you’re still cute! Yes, you are!” he cooed. Latte preened at the attention and licked at Louis’ fingers.

“She likes you,” Harry said, and Louis could hear the smile in his voice.

“Not going to chuck me then?” Louis asked.

Harry shrugged, but his smile widened. “I guess you can stick around for now.”

 

The dogs lost all interest in the newcomer as soon as Harry refilled their food bowls. Nonetheless, Louis still felt a bit strange snogging Harry against the refrigerator while they noisily scarfed down their dinner three feet away. 

“Harry, we’re going to scar your dogs for life,” Louis laughed breathlessly after several minutes. Harry didn’t seem too concerned, sliding a leg between Louis’ and rutting forward with a kind of hissing gasp. “Keep it in your pants until we get to the bedroom, Styles.”

“Right, um—bedroom,” Harry said urgently, playing with the hem of Louis’ jumper and practically stumbling over his own feet in his haste to lead Louis out of the kitchen.

They crossed the living room in a tangled heap of limbs, Harry stopping halfway through the room to tug his shirt over his head. When they reached the hallway, he paused again, this time to pin Louis against the nearest wall and kiss him hard. Louis had never been more aware of or turned on by their height difference before. 

He broke apart from Harry for long enough to shuck his own shirt over his head, then reached for the zip on Harry’s jeans, tugging frantically at the button. It only took a couple of seconds to shove one hand into Harry’s briefs and around Harry’s cock, which was already half-hard.

“You were just telling me to keep my pants _on._ Make up your mind, Lou,” Harry said, voice shaky and hips canting forward, fucking himself into Louis’ fist. 

Louis laughed despite himself. “Wow, you’re such a comedian once you’ve got your dick out,” he said as seriously as he could manage. That startled a peal of breathy laughter from Harry and Louis could see the muscles in his stomach twitching with it. He swept his free hand across Harry’s belly and over the fern leaf tattooed over his left hip bone. Harry closed his eyes and shivered. “O-okay. Bedroom. Now,” he breathed, peeling his jeans the rest of the way down his legs and tugging Louis down the hall.

 

Louis didn’t even remember how he’d gotten naked, but somehow it had happened and now he was on his back on Harry’s massive, gloriously soft bed while Harry worked his way down Louis’ body, nipping at his neck and licking broad stripes over his nipples and nosing under his ribcage until he was level with Louis’ thighs, peppering them with feather-light kisses. Louis sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so—,” Louis started to say, but Harry never found out what he was because he chose that moment to sink his teeth into the flesh on the inside of Louis’ inner thigh, drawing an embarrassing whimpering moan from him. “Can I eat you out?” Harry asked hoarsely, looking up with wide, desperate eyes.

“Is that even a question?” Louis asked with a shaky attempt at a laugh. “Of course you fucking can.”

Harry beamed and ducked his head, marking a slow, wet trail of kisses from Louis’ thighs to his cock, which he lapped at teasingly before sucking Louis down. After several long, wonderful minutes, Harry looked up again. “Could—would you maybe want to sit on my face? I—er I kind of like it better that way.”

Louis gaped at him. He reflected that Harry was quite possibly some kind of evil, perfect sex robot sent to Earth to reduce him to a useless wreck.

“I definitely think that could be arranged,” he said, scrambling up the bed in an awkward kind of shimmy-crawl, both of them jostling so that Harry was flat on his back and Louis was kneeling beside his head. 

“Just—just like pinch my leg if it’s too much,” Louis said. Harry rolled his eyes. “It won’t be,” he assured him immediately. Louis blinked. “Right—er, fuck, okay,” he said dazedly, shuffling forward as carefully as he could and gingerly straddling Harry’s chest then scooting back, keeping his bum a good six inches from Harry’s face so that Harry could control the pace.

 

Without preamble, Harry spread him apart with both hands and licked up his perineum and over his hole. “Fucking shit,” Louis groaned, clenching his thighs with the effort not to grind down on Harry’s mouth.

Louis’ mind flickered into static fuzz and he lost all track of time as Harry pressed wet, messy kisses all over his skin. Soon his legs were shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and when Harry nipped sharply at a spot right beside his rim, he gasped and ground down involuntarily, riding Harry’s face filthily for a long moment before regaining his composure and shifting back onto his knees so that Harry could breathe. “S-sorry,” he stammered.

Harry made an impatient noise and pressed his palms to the tops of Louis’ thighs, pulling him closer again. “Stop teasing,” he murmured before burying his face between Louis’ cheeks and doing something with his tongue that made Louis pitch forward onto his elbows.

Louis was vaguely aware of the unabashed moans leaving his mouth, but he was much more focused on the sting of Harry’s stubble between his legs and the sloppy wetness of his tongue. It wasn’t long before Louis felt the almost-unbearable tingling burn low in his gut that he associated with feeling like he was going to die if he didn’t come in the next several seconds. Hepumped his cock and rolled his hips forward harder than before, pushing Harry’s tongue deeper into him.

Harry made a loud, low groaning noise and Louis glanced back to see his whole body drawn taut, one hand working furiously over his cock as he spurted over his fist and stomach. That was all it took to knock Louis headfirst over the edge of his own orgasm.

After what could have been either several seconds or several years, he eased his leg over Harry’s head and collapsed beside him on the duvet, his breathing labored.

“Did you—fuck, did you just come?” Louis asked, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. Harry looked away. “Sorry. I—uh, I really like doing that,” he panted, wiping spit off his chin and sweeping a self-conscious hand through his hair. 

Louis traced a line through the come drying on Harry’s stomach and raised his hand to his lips, holding Harry’s gaze as he sucked come off his fingers.

“Why are you apologizing? It’s hot,” he whispered, surging forward to kiss Harry hard. “I’m just a bit sad that I don’t get to make you come myself.”

Harry grinned. “Give me a couple minutes and maybe you can.”

 

Louis desperately needed a shower, but for the moment he was content to use Harry’s chest as a pillow and catch his breath.

“Hey,” Harry said after several moments. His tone was casual but Louis sensed a hard edge beneath the lightness. “Hey yourself,” he replied, dropping a kiss onto the butterfly tattooed on Harry’s chest.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry said, the anxiety growing clearer in his voice.

“Sure you can,” Louis said, carding a hand through Harry’s curls and scratching gently at the nape of his neck.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow and took a deep breath. “What’rewedoing?” he asked on a rushed exhale.He gulped another breath and continued, “Because I just—I really like you, Louis and I really like this—,” he said, motioning between their naked bodies. “—But I just, I want to make sure we’re on the same page and I know it’s like, really soon to be asking, but it’s driving me a bit insane not knowing. So—what is this to you?”

His eyes were flitting nervously around the room and his hands were twisting shakily in the sheets and his mouth was a thin, tight line and it was all so unlike Harry, big and soft and warm and Louis didn’t like it at all.

“Hey, calm down,” he soothed, placing Harry’s hands on his chest and then placing his own on top of them, not speaking until he felt Harry’s heartbeat begin to slow. “I really, really like you, Harry.And obviously I love this,” he grinned, his eyes sliding down to their intertwined limbs. When he looked back up, his expression was serious. “I know it’s new but I’m crazy about you. I’ve—er, to be honest, I’ve never felt so much for someone so quickly,” he admitted, his voice coming out hushed and raw and a bit jagged. He cleared his throat. “So if it’s okay with you, I’d like it if we were dating. Like, exclusively or whatever.”

The light coming from Harry’s smile probably could have lit up Tower Bridge. He even looked a bit surprised, which was hilarious considering how painfully and obviously infatuated Louis was with him.

“So you’re gonna proper date me?” Harry asked, his voice deep and syrupy, a little dazed. He sounded turned on and when Louis got a hand around his cock, it was already hardening up. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “How is proper dating different from improper dating?” he asked seriously. When Harry rolled his eyes and kicked at his shins, he cracked a smile as he continued to slowly jerk Harry off. “Yes, Harold, I wanna proper date you. Take you out, have incredible sex with you, not sleep with anyone else. The whole nine yards. Wanna date the fuck out of you if I’m honest.”

He mumbled the last sentence into Harry’s mouth because Harry had rolled on top of him and started rutting against his thigh with breathy little whimpers that were quickly making Louis hard again.

“You’re sure?” Harry whispered, breath hot on Louis’ neck. “Course I’m sure, you twat. Now please shut up and kiss me some more.”

 

The next morning, Louis woke up to the sound of paws clicking against hardwood and eager yapping in the immediate vicinity of his face. “G’morning, Latte,” he grumbled, turning over in bed and giving the chihuahua a scratch behind the ears. 

He heard an amused snort from the door. Harry was draped against the doorframe, clutching a coffee mug and watching him with wide, jade green eyes. He was wearing running tights and a Cambridge sweatshirt and his hair pulled into a ridiculous tiny bun and Louis might still be half-asleep but he was still very turned on by the whole thing. 

“Hi, sorry to wake you. I’m about to leave for my weekly staff meeting but you’re welcome to stay in bed.”

“Shit, what time is it?” Louis slurred, startling awake and scrambling for his phone.

“It’s still early,” Harry smiled. “Just 6:30.” 

Louis collapsed back onto the pillows. “Thank fuck. I don’t have to be at work for an hour and a half. Should still run home and change, though.”

“What are you up to today?” Harry asked, taking a large sip from his mug.

Louis gulped. Today, he was meeting with the director of the Rainbow Clinic to talk about Harry and hopefully salvage the article. “Oh—er, not too much. Starting a couple new stories. Might get to cover a union strike happening in Chelsea.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “That’s good, isn’t it? More like the stuff you want to be doing?”

Warmth spread through Louis’ insides. “It is,” he nodded. “What about you? Any surgeries today?”

“Remember the little girl you met a couple weeks ago, Michaela? Liam and I are doing another procedure on her today. S’pretty low risk, but I hate operating on kids. Dunno how Liam does it every day.” He stared into space for a beat before apparently coming back to his senses, glancing down at his phone and cursing. 

“Shit, I’m going to be even later than usual. Gotta run. Literally,” he said, gesturing to his outfit and then laughing at his own stupid joke. 

Louis slid out of bed and crossed the room to kiss Harry because they were dating now and that was something he was allowed to do whenever he wanted. 

“You’re going to smash it. She’s in good hands,” he assured Harry after he’d pulled away. “I’ll see you later, Harold.”

Harry wrapped one arm around Louis’ bare back and slipped the other around his waist, his fingers sliding just below the waistband of Louis’ briefs. “Have a good day,” he breathed into Louis’ neck. Louis gave him a long squeeze, inhaled his clean laundry-expensive shampoo smell for a lingering moment, then patted his bum. “You’re late. Go to work.”

 

The Rainbow Clinic was run by Lou Teasdale, a woman in her early thirties with bleach blonde hair, heavy black eyeliner, and a strong Yorkshire accent. She shook Louis’ hand, ushered him impatiently into her tiny office and immediately offered him a cup of strongly-brewed Yorkshire tea. Louis liked her at once.

“You’re Harry’s journalist,” Lou remarked, sitting down at her desk and fixing Louis with a stern, disconcertingly appraising look.

“I am,” Louis agreed.

“I think it’s bullshit that Harry’s boss is getting some journalist to make him a walking advertisement for their hospital,” she said in the same matter-of-fact tone.

“I agree,” Louis said at once. “That’s not what I’m trying to do with this article at all. That’s why I’m here.”

Lou nodded thoughtfully. “You didn’t seem like a tosser from the way Harry described you. That’s good.”

Louis cracked a smile at that. “How exactly _did_ Harry describe me?” he asked. Lou didn’t answer, just pursed her lips into a knowing smile and took a long sip from her tea. “I’m guessing you didn’t request an interview so that we could talk about you,” she said when she’d lowered her cup.

Louis snorted. He definitely liked Lou Teasdale. “No, I suppose I didn’t,” he admitted. “I’m here to talk about Dr. Styles’ involvement with your clinic.”

“Now _that_ I can definitely help you with,” Lou said, her smile widening. 

 

“Harry started a program that brings therapy dogs to the clinic for the kids to play with. Isn’t that incredible?”

“Yeah, Lou. Really cool,” Niall replied without looking up from the television. They were holding lad’s night at Louis’ flat so that he could write while Zayn and Niall fucked around on the couch and pretended to watch _he Dark Knight Rises_ for the tenth time.

“ _And_ since he got involved at the clinic, its funding has nearly doubled. Crazy, right?” 

Niall and Zayn exchanged a covert glance that was equal parts exasperated and amused. Louis continued, completely unaware of their derision.

“And did I tell you about how he organized a charity football match for the clinic last year? Raised over £5,000. He got David bloody Beckham to donate a signed jersey!”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “We get it, Lou. Your boyfriend’s the British Jesus.”

Louis scowled and chucked Niall’s stupid grey hat, which was sitting on the coffee table, at Zayn’s head. Zayn ducked and settled deeper into Niall’s side on the couch, shooting Louis a dirty look.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were the clacking of Louis' keyboard, the low murmur of the telly, and an occasional crunching as Niall worked his way through a bag of crisps. When Niall had gotten up to have a wee, Zayn examined Louis for a long moment. 

"Do you think you'll be able to pull this off?" he asked quietly.

"Huh?" Louis asked, head snapping up from his computer, where he'd been typing furiously. 

"The profile. Do you think you'll be able to rewrite it in time with a full workload at the office?"

"Of course I will," he replied, pasting a smile on his face. The effort made his eyes itch. He was so tired.

Zayn didn't say anything to that, just studied Louis, his features etched with concern. 

Louis shut his eyes and let all of the anxiety and fear and guilt he'd been keeping at bay for the past several days roll over him. It flooded his stomach like molten lava, making him feel short of breath and slightly nauseous. 

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" 


	7. -7-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I'm the absolute worst! This took forever, but I hope y'all like it! PLEASE leave all of your thoughts in the comments! Thanks for reading!!

“We’ve got a serious problem, Louis.” Harry’s voice was crackly over the phone, but he sounded somber and Louis furiously shushed Niall, who had been making loud, ongoing commentary about the football match he was watching on his laptop. 

“What’s up? Everything okay?” Harry had seemed well enough when they’d parted ways outside Louis’ flat that morning, but Louis instantly felt his palms prickle with the absurd tingle of concern.

“It’s Ed,” Harry said. “He’s threatening a riot if you don’t visit the hospital soon. He proper misses you.” Harry’s voice was cut off by a muffled thud and a loud “ouch!”

“Sorry, Ed just hit me,” Harry explained after another moment.

“I barely touched you, dick!” Louis heard Ed insist from somewhere close by.

 

Louis rolled his eyes and exhaled the breath he’d been holding me with an indignant snort. “You scared me, you tit.”

Harry’s short burst of laughter was bright and close and right in Louis’ ear and he wished that he could see it playing out on Harry’s face. “Seriously, Lou! Everyone here’s been asking about you! Don’t you have more interviews to do or something? S’been more than a week.”

Louis sighed and shoved down the inevitable feeling of guilt that clawed its way up his throat whenever Harry brought up the article.  “I know, it’s been ages. Miss being around you all day,” he murmured, resolutely refusing to look up when he hear Niall snicker.  “But James has me back on other stories now, remember? Maybe I can pop by for lunch sometime. You never did take me to the cafeteria,” he added.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Harry said. “Oh, speaking of food, are you okay with curry tonight? I was going to pop down to the shops after my cleft lip and Perrie’s given me a recipe for a curry with prawns that I really want to try.”

Louis hummed in appreciation. “Curry with prawns sounds great. M’leaving here around half five. Shall I pick up wine?”

“Yes, please. And can’t you leave early? I get off at 3 today! We could take the dogs to the park! Or we could do—other things.” Louis could hear the smirk in his voice and he was felt an overwhelming temptation to skive off of work and spend the afternoon fucking Harry into the mattress.

Instead of saying any of that that, he chuckled and replied, “You know, you’re not my _only_ priority right now, Harold. As a matter of fact, I’ve got to go. I happen to be working on something quite important at the moment.”

For some godforsaken reason, James chose that moment to poke his head into the room and say, in a loud, carrying voice, “Lou, we’re still waiting on that piece about Tom the Happy Hamster!”

Louis glared daggers at James. “I have to go,” he told Harry.

“Sure, Lou,” Harry laughed. “See you tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” Louis replied, feeling his face stretching into a smile that felt too big for it because Harry was lovely and _his_ and he was so fucking gone.

 

“Shall I pick up wine?” Niall repeated in a tone that was laced with both fondness and disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Louis Tomlinson?”

“Shut up,” he said. 

“Seriously, mate! You’re proper whipped and it's been, what, two weeks?

“Twelve days,” Louis corrected at once. When he saw the expression on Niall’s face, he rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he repeated. 

“Just be careful, okay?” Niall said, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. Louis opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, saw the warning in Niall’s eyes, and shut his mouth again. He loved his best mate a lot.

“I know it’s moving fast,” he admitted. “I just—I wanna be with him like, all the time but I also wanna get the story right and—I dunno. I’ve never felt like this before. Like I can’t get him out of my head and I don’t even want to.”

Niall chuckled. “It’s kind of fucking scary, innit?”

“A bit,” Louis agreed. “Mostly I just want to write something good for him. Something that shows how good he is. I feel fucking terrible for writing that other one in the first place.”

Niall shrugged. “People fuck up,” he said. 

Louis hummed in agreement. “Like you wearing that stupid little hat everywhere you go.” Niall flipped Louis the bird and grumbled something about Louis being an awful best mate, and they continued bickering until Zayn poked his head into the office to ask where they were going for lunch.

 

The thing was, dating Harry was easier than it should have been. They spent more nights together than apart and all of it felt oddly habitual, spontaneous and safe at the same time—taking the dogs for long walks down the river and sleeping in Harry’s bed and stopping by Tesco to buy the stupid granola Harry was obsessed with. 

The only downside was that Louis ran on four hours of sleep a night, waiting until Harry fell asleep to crawl out of bed and work on the profile until his eyes itched.

Between the sleep deprivation and the constant guilt, the whole thing was probably taking about a year off his life, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care because he was happier than he could ever remember being. Every time it felt like too much, he told himself, _“Just a few more days. Just a few more days,”_ repeating the phrase like a prayer until the knot in his stomach loosened.

Today was Friday; his deadline was next Wednesday, and edits would take James two more days. In nine days, the profile would run in the Sunday paper and he and Harry could together for real.

* * *

When Louis arrived at the flat that evening, he walked straight past Harry and across the room to the dog bed in the corner. “Darlings! It’s been years! Have you missed me?” he crooned, beaming and allowing Lucy to lick his cheek twice before pulling away.  “Have you been feeding them, Harold? They’re looking rather peckish,” he said as he scratched at Latte’s favorite spot just above her tail.

“You watched me feed them this morning, twat. Now c’mere. You’re missing _Come Dine With Me_.” 

Harry kissed Louis long and a little messy then pulled him toward the couch, ignoring his grumblings that _Come Dine With Me_ was overrated and tucking him into his side on the sofa. 

He stroked at Louis’ hair and laughed as Louis made smart-arsed commentary about how he could throw a better dinner party than Mary from Brighton with his hands tied behind his back.  It was perfect, the Friday kind of perfect that’s even better than the normal kind of perfect because it feels limitless.

“You can’t fry an egg. How would you throw a proper dinner party?” Harry demanded with no heat.

“First of all, I can fry an egg,” Louis scoffed. “Second of all, you would obviously do the cooking. I’d provide the entertainment. And we could get Zayn to play the mandolin.”

“I didn’t know Zayn could play the mandolin. When am I going to meet him, by the way?”

“Next week, maybe? It’s bizarre that you haven’t met him and Niall already. I think they’re hooking up again,” he added absent-mindedly.

 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Harry asked. Louis had told him about his best mate’s complicated, on-again-off again hook-up situation and the whole thing both confused and stressed him out a bit.

“It could be a good thing, I think,” Louis said. “If they figured their shit out I feel like they might begreat together. I dunno though, Zayn’s not really the relationship type and Niall’s—kind of straight. Zayn’s the only guy he’s ever been with.”

Harry frowned at that. He was feeling the prickling of something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something he’d never felt with Louis before. 

“What difference does that make? I’ve been with women and it doesn’t make me feel less attracted to you.” He did his best not to sound defensive, but he was pretty sure he failed miserably.

“No, I know that,” Louis said quickly. “It’s just—Niall doesn’t even really identify as bi, so I guess that’s why I think it’s a little strange.”

“Strange?” Harry repeated, trying not to sound upset; trying not to feel upset. They’d never talked about the bisexuality thing before. Harry felt a bit queasy.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Louis said. “You’re completely right. It shouldn’t make any difference. I just—they’re my best mates, y’know? I’ve known Niall since we were in nappies. He was my straight friend who always stuck up for me when people acted like pricks. That’s why it’s strange.”

Harry felt his shoulders relax a little; he hadn’t even realized he’d tensed them. “Right. So it’s not strange for you that I’m bi?” he asked. 

Louis sat up. “Harry, no,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I don’t care _at all_.”

 

Harry nodded and tried to smile around the gradually-shrinking lump in his throat. He must not have been very convincing, because Louis roughly pulled him up and straddled his lap. 

“I don’t give a shit who you’ve been with or who you’re attracted to. It doesn’t change anything with us, okay?”

Harry squirmed. “Of course, I’m being an idiot. S’just—.” Oh, god, he was going there. “—s’just that I’ve been with guys who just, like, assumed I was experimenting when I thought things were more serious.” He forced a dry chuckle. “It kind of sucked.”

Louis yanked on his hair just hard enough to hurt, forcing Harry to look into his face. “Does it look like I’m just experimenting with you?” he asked, making a slow circle with his hips and grinding down, his eyes blazing into Harry’s.

“N-no,” Harry gasped as Louis tugged at his hair again. 

“Good,” Louis said before leaning in to give Harry a kiss that was bruising and full of intent. He bit down on Harry’s bottom lip and thrust his hips again, making Harry’s own hips cant up involuntarily. He was getting hard at record speed. He and Louis hadn’t had sex on the couch yet; maybe they could change that today.

He was distracted from that happy thought by Louis pulling away and wiping a hand over his mouth, eyes gleaming. “Glad we got that settled,” he said.

The next moment, he was sliding out of Harry’s lap and sinking back into his side.  “Shall we take the dogs on a walk after this episode’s over?” he added as he redirected his attention to the television, where Mary of Brighton was serving her guests a questionable-looking spotted dick.  Harry sighed and slumped into the couch cushions, knowing that couch sex was not in the cards for today. It had taken approximately 12 seconds of dating to learn that Louis Tomlinson was an awful tease who seemed to take great pleasure in torturing Harry. Maddeningly, this somehow just made Louis both hotter and more endearing.

 

“By the way, I brought you a little gift,” Louis said after a few minutes. His eyes were extra blue and shiny and his eyelashes looked extra long and he was biting at his thin lips. He looked extremely hot. Harry told him so then spent the next several long moments kissing him.  “Now, what did you bring me?” he asked, tracing Louis’ swollen bottom lip with his thumb. 

Louis closed his eyes and leaned closer into Harry’s side. He looked like a pleased house-cat and Harry was probably in love with him. 

“I brought dessert for tonight,” he rasped. “Banoffee pie from that place you like. And salted caramel-flavored lube.”

Harry snorted. “Salted caramel-flavored lube? I’m not sure whether I should be excited or afraid.”

“A friend recommended it,” Louis smirked.

“Oh God, it was Grimmy, wasn’t it?”

Louis chose to ignore that. “Show’s over! Let’s go on that walk!” he suggested, jumping off the couch and switching off the telly. 

They shuffled around the flat, slipping on their shoes and wrangling Latte and Lucy onto their leads. 

 

“Do you feel like bottoming tonight?” Louis asked once they were on the street.

Harry bit back a snort. As if he’d ever pass up the chance to let Louis fuck him. Instead of saying that, he settled on, “Yeah, sure.”

Louis took Harry's free hand and laced their fingers together. “Good. I was thinking I could tie your hands to the headboard and then fuck you so hard you come untouched. If that’s okay with you, of course.” He said all of this so matter-of-factly that he might have been talking about grocery shopping.

Harry jolted, inadvertently yanking on Latte’s lead and earning a scathing look from the chihuahua. “I—yeah, let’s do that,” he said to Louis, who just smirked and prevented Lucy from tromping through the flowerbed of the mews they were walking past.

 

Later that night, much later, Harry woke up and realized that he was alone. A glance at his phone revealed that it was almost three. His first thought was that it was crazy how quickly he’d gotten used to sharing a bed. The second thought he had was that Louis’ side of the bed was cold. Groggy and confused, he stumbled toward the living room.

Louis was perched on the sofa, his face alight with the blue-white light of his computer screen and his tongue pulled between his teeth in concentration. He jumped when he saw Harry in the doorway. “Fuck, Haz, you scared me!”

“What’re you doing?” Harry murmured.

“I—just working,” Louis said with a certain forced airiness. Harry was too tired to register the pinched quality to his smile. 

“This late?”

“Must have lost track of time. Got a deadline coming up,” Louis said vaguely.

“Is it for my article?” Harry asked, feeling more a bit more awake now. Maybe he could convince Louis to let him have a peek. He was a bit curious about what Louis had been working on for all these weeks. 

“No,” Louis said, slamming his computer shut and rising from the sofa. “I was pretty much done anyways.”

Harry shrugged and followed him back toward the bedroom. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’m going to have a lie-in tomorrow. I’ve done like ten surgeries this week and I’m fucking knackered.”

“A proper lie-in sounds amazing,” Louis assured him as they slid into bed and got settled. “I feel like I could sleep for about a year.” 

“If you sleep for a year, they’ll be writing articles about you instead of me,” Harry remarked.

Louis rolled his eyes and poked Harry’s shin with his big toe. “Apparently you’re not too tired to make bad jokes.”

“My jokes rock.”

“Go to sleep, Harold.” 

The next time Harry woke up, the room was bathed in a pale December sunlight that told him it was sometime in the late morning. He immediately registered the two sounds that had woken him up: a sleepy, snuffling grumbling right beside him and a distant but unmistakable rap on the front door. 

“Harold, someone’s at the door,” Louis pointed out, sitting up in bed and stretching his arms over his head.

“I can hear that,” Harry said, sliding reluctantly out of bed and looking down at Louis, who had propped himself up on one elbow and tipped his head to the side. A lock of caramel-colored hair fell into his eyes and he grinned and tried to blow it away, which only succeeded in sweeping another strand onto his face. He beamed and his eyes crinkled and Harry needed to look away before he forgot about whoever was at the door and pinned Louis to the bed for an hour or four.

 

He lost his chance because the next moment, Louis was sliding out from under the duvet and tugging on a pair of Harry’s joggers, which were at least an inch too long and sat low on his hips.  “Who is it?” he asked, scratching absently at a spot above his hip.

Harry shrugged, rifling through a drawer to retrieve his oldest and most hole-covered Rolling Stones t-shirt. “Probably Liam stopping by on his way to the hospital. Or it could be Mrs. Humphreys from next door asking if I want her copy of _The Times_.” 

“Okay, well I’m gonna make myself a cuppa. Want one? And maybe some toast?” 

Harry nodded and hugged Louis from behind in the doorway between the bedroom and the hall, trailing his lips from Louis’ collarbone to a spot behind his ear. “Tea and toast. Proper domestic, aren’t we?”

Harry couldn’t see Louis’ face, but he was positive that he was rolling his eyes. “Not all of us can make a full fry-up in 20 minutes, Harold. Now unhand me so I can make your breakfast.” Harry tilted Louis’ head to the side with one hand and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before slipping past him into the hallway. 

 

Harry opened the door prepared to offer Liam a quick cuppa on his way to the hospital. What he was not prepared for was the sight of his mum and sister standing in the doorway with matching toothy grins.

“Good morning, darling! We thought we’d pop by and take you out for brunch!” Anne exclaimed, scooping him into a hug.

“Good Lord, Harry. It’s half ten and you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed,” Gemma said, rolling her eyes and kissing Harry’s cheek. “You really need to get your life toge—oh.” Gemma stopped speaking, her jaw dropping as she glanced over Harry’s shoulder.  Harry followed her gaze and saw Louis frozen in the hallway, bare-chested and tousle-haired and looking mortified.

A quick glance at his mum confirmed that she had spotted Louis as well. In his rational mind, Harry knew that he should have been embarrassed or panicked, but for some reason, his first thought was that he wished that all of this was being videotaped because everyone’s expressions of shock were objectively hilarious. 

“Er—mum, Gemma. This is Louis. Tomlinson. He’s—um, we just woke up,” he said.

Louis looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor. When he spoke, however, his voice was impressively cheery. “Hullo! It’s nice to meet you both! I’m just going to—er, put on some real clothes, I think.”

To her credit, Gemma kept it together until Louis was out of sight, but the second they heard the snick of Harry’s bedroom door, she burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh my God!” she said through her laughter. “Mum, that’s the guy I was telling you about! Harry’s journalist!”

Harry’s mum glanced back toward the bedroom and raised her eyebrows. “He’s quite dishy. Strong work, Harry.”

Harry snorted, then buried his head in his hands, then hugged his mum. “Thank you, that’s very helpful,” he said. “God, Louis’ probably so freaked out.”

“Yes, I expect he is. Go back there and tell him that we won’t bite,” his mum prompted.  “Yeah, we want to properly meet him,” Gemma chimed in. 

Harry stared at both of them blankly for several long seconds.

“What are you waiting for? Go invite him to brunch! Go!” his mum instructed, shooing him out of the room.

 

Louis was fully dressed when Harry entered the bedroom. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I had no idea you had plans with your family.”

“Yeah, neither did I. They love surprising me,” Harry said with a shrug.

“I’ll head out so you can spend some time with them.”

“They, uh—they want you to come to brunch with us,” Harry said, biting at his lip while he waited for Louis’ response. He wanted Louis not to be freaked out, but bizarrely enough he also really wanted Louis to meet his mum and Gemma. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” Louis said with some trepidation.

“No, you wouldn’t be. They want you to come. And—uh, I want you to come.”

“Really?” Louis asked, his lips twitching upwards. His smile was a shy, hopeful thing that made Harry want to kiss him, so he did.

“Yes, really. Will you? They’re very nice, I promise.”

“Will they tell me embarrassing stories from your childhood?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think they’ll insist on it, unfortunately.”

“Okay, then. Just let me borrow one of your shirts. I don’t want to meet your mum wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

“You kind of already met her wearing no clothes,” Harry pointed out.

“You’re not funny.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Get out.”

 

“Sorry about my earlier nudity,” Louis said when he greeted Gemma and Anne several minutes later. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“At least you made a memorable first impression,” Gemma said.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Anne cut in, shooting her a look. “It’s our fault for barging in unannounced. We’re very glad to meet you.”

“Thanks so much for letting me intrude on your family time," Louis said. I’ve heard so many lovely things about both of you.”

“I like this one already,” Anne said to Harry, who grinned and gave Louis’ arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, I like him pretty well myself. Can we go now?”

The obligatory awkwardness of introductions was blessedly short. Harry had always known that Louis was lovely and charming and ridiculously charismatic, but he had never fully appreciated it until now. He spent the walk to the restaurant—a posh cafe that Gemma had chosen—recounting the infamous Breakfast Bun Incident that had ended in a severe allergic reaction. Anne and Gemma were both in fits, doubled over in laughter as Louis mimicked his own panicked wheezing.

“Jesus, Harry! That’s some way to romance someone,” Gemma said.

“He was a real gentleman about it!” Louis insisted, taking Harry’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Nursed me back to health, didn’t you, Harold?”

Harry didn’t even roll his eyes; this was going so fucking well and he was so fucking pleased. He laced their fingers tighter together and gave Louis a look that he hoped would express that he was very grateful and that Louis was going to have the shag of his life that night.

Louis must have understood, because he gave Harry a subtle but undeniably lascivious eyebrow wiggle that made Harry laugh. When he looked up, he saw his mum and sister watching them with matching gratified little smiles. He made a face at them and then laughed again; he was so extremely fucking satisfied with his life in this moment.

 

By the time the four of them were helping themselves to dainty little finger sandwiches, Gemma and Louis had discovered a mutual enthusiasm for taking the piss out of Harry and were gleefully comparing notes. 

“Thanks a lot, Gems,” Harry said as the pair cackled over a picture on Gemma’s phone that showed a 5-year old Harry wearing a bra and grinning like an idiot.

“He deserves to know what he’s getting himself into!” Gemma insisted. 

“You were very cute,” Louis assured him. “Same dimples.” He poked at Harry’s cheek and stole the rest of his cucumber sandwich. In turn, Gemma snatched Louis’ curried chicken salad, making him scowl and offer an offended “Oi!”

 

“So Louis," Gemma started before taking a sip of tea. "When did you know you know that you liked Harry here?” 

“Gemma!” Harry said, glaring at his sister. 

Louis laughed. “No, it’s okay. I think—,” he looked down and carded a hand through his fringe. When he looked up, his face was soft like late afternoon sunlight braving a glimpse behind a cloud. “—I think it must have been seeing you with Michaela,” he said, giving Harry one of his special crinkly smiles. 

“The little girl at the hospital?” Harry asked. “Why?”

“You were—you talked to her like she was the most important person in the world. And I remember thinking that all of your patients were really lucky. And thinking how kind you were.”

Louis’ eyes were so blue and they were boring into Harry’s and stripping him bare and he kind of felt like he couldn’t breathe. The silence was broken by his mum and Gemma letting out a chorus of “awww’s,” making Harry jump. He’d forgotten they were there.

Louis cleared his throat, turned to Gemma and Anne, and explained how he’d been shadowing Harry at the hospital. Harry zoned out, content to watch Louis talk. He looked at his mother and sister, both of whom were leaning forward, chins in their hands, absorbed in Louis’ story. It was warm and it was familiar and it was all because of Louis and it was fucking insane, but Harry was in love with him. The realization didn’t frighten him as much as it should have.

 

When Louis took a trip to the loo, Harry turned to Anne and Gemma. “Do you like him?” he asked with some trepidation.

“He’s crazy about you,” Gemma said at once.

“That’s not an answer. But really? Do you think so?”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “He’s spent the last two hours trying to impress your mum and older sister and you’ve been dating, what, two weeks? Don’t be thick, Harry.” 

“She’s right. He’s over the moon for you,” Anne agreed. “And I think he’s lovely. Very smart; very funny; very polite,” she added.

Gemma nodded. “Yeah, Louis’ hilarious. Don’t mess this one up,” she advised him. Harry couldn’t even pretend to be offended at that because Louis had met his family and it had gone well and he honestly couldn’t believe his luck.

 

Louis turned to Harry once they’d parted ways from Gemma and Anne, who were headed to Selfridges for some shopping. “Did I just meet your mum?” he giggled breathlessly, his eyes crinkling into slits.

“And my sister,” Harry pointed out with a huge, stupid grin.

“I actually think it went rather well. They’re lovely.”

“Thank you. You were very charming yourself. I think they want to adopt you,” Harry said.

Louis wrinkled his nose. “We’d be step-brothers. I think I’ll pass.”

“I definitely don’t want to be your step-brother,” Harry said, his voice coming out raspy and low. He couldn’t wait to get Louis home.  Louis must have read his mind, because he leaned into Harry’s side and whispered into his ear, his breath hot on Harry’s neck. “Can we go home? Want you to fuck me.” 

When he looked at Harry, there was a light dancing in his eyes. Harry grinned because he wasin love and he got to take Louis home and life was fucking awesome.


	8. -8-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting close now folks !! sorry for the end :(
> 
> LEAVE COMMENTS!

“What do you think?” Louis demanded, trying and failing to keep the nervous edge out of his voice.

“Shh,” James hissed. “I’ve just started reading five seconds ago! Shut up.”

It was Wednesday. Louis had just turned in his rewrites on the profile. He felt nauseous. 

He perched himself on the edge of James’ desk and stared at him while he read, trying to analyze his facial expressions. 

“Lou, I can’t read with you staring at me.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Louis lied.

“Get out,” James said, pointing to the door. 

“What? No!” Louis cried. “Fine, I won’t stare anymore!” James raised an eyebrow. “I promise!” Louis insisted.

James sighed and turned back to the draft in front of him, picking up his red editing pen.

 

When James looked up ten minutes later, his face was inscrutable. Neither of them said anything for several long seconds. Louis was definitely going to pass out. 

“Well?” he croaked.

“It’s bloody brilliant,” James said, his face splitting into a smile. 

Louis closed his eyes, letting relief flood over him. “Really?”

“Really,” James assured him. “You’ve done an amazing job humanizing him. I loved the section about the charity, what was it cal—.”

“The Rainbow Clinic,” Louis provided.

“Right! And the part about his relationships with the people at the hospital was great. It felt like you were writing about your mates. I loved the male nurse.”

“Ed,” Louis prompted with a huge grin.

“Yeah, him. The whole thing was great. And funny as hell. You made me feel like Harry Styles is someone I’d get a pint with.”

Louis might have been floating with the elation that he felt, heady and addictive and coursing through his bloodstream. “Thanks, James.That’s—that means a lot.”

“It’s true. This is very good. I’m proud of you, Tommo.” 

Louis slumped into a seat. “I’d half-convinced myself you were going to hate it.”

James laughed. “There are a couple things we’ll want to tweak, but you’ve done a great job here, Louis. Truly.”

“Thanks, mate. I’m actually quite pleased with it,” Louis admitted giddily.

“Are you excited for Harry to read it?”

Louis felt a swooping, not altogether unpleasant sensation in his stomach. He nodded. “And nervous.”

James scoffed. “He’s going to love it.” He paused, smirking at the expression on Louis’ face. “You two are proper dating, then?”

“Will I get fired if I say yes?” Louis asked.

“Nah,” James said. “I pretty much saw the writing on the wall at Grimmy’s party. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Louis grinned. “Yeah, well. He’s fucking fit.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Love you too,” Louis said, blowing him a kiss on his way out the door.

* * *

“Don’t go to work,” Louis breathed against Harry’s collarbone before taking a sharp nip at the bird tattooed there. “It’s Saturday and I want to play.”

“Fuck, Lou. I have to go,” Harry hissed on a sharp inhale. 

Louis ignored this and began to suck a wet spot behind Harry’s ear.

“Babe, I’m already l-late,” Harry groaned, hooking a leg around Louis’ hip and rutting against him. Harry might be late, but Louis played dirty and he didn’t stand a chance. 

“Just let me suck you off. Please,” Louis whispered, making his voice go especially raspy. “I’ll let you come on my face.” 

Harry was in love with a monster.

“Fuck, Lou,” he panted, bringing their lips together for a kiss that lacked finesse because Harry was embarrassingly hard and desperate. “Make me come, baby.”

Louis preened at the pet name and bit at Harry’s bottom lip. “I bet I can make you come in two minutes, what do you think?”

“I, fuck—I think you’re full of shit,” Harry replied, the sentiment undermined by the fact that his voice cracked on the last word. Louis smirked and ducked his head. “We’ll see about that.”

 

“That was definitely less than two minutes,” Louis insisted, rubbing a streak of come from his cheek and then sucking it off his finger with a loud pop. Harry’s softening dick gave a feeble twitch and Harry glared down at it. Traitor.

“It was at least three minutes,” he lied. 

“You’re cute. Now go to work,” said Louis.

“Are you kicking me out of my own bed?”

“Yeah, I think I am. Seriously, get out of here! You’ve got surgery in an hour!”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and slid out of bed. “Fine, I’m going. Are we still on for lunch at the hospital?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Louis. 

“Good. I’m sure everyone will be pleased to see you. How does this look?” Harry asked, gesturing to the shirt he’d just pulled on, a pale lavender jumper that made him look especially dreamy and soft. 

Louis looked up from a book he’d found on Harry’s bedside table. “It looks like you need to call in sick so I can take it off of you,” he said.

Harry scowled. “Seriously, Louis.”

“Seriously what? You’re just going to change into scrubs!”

“Yeah, but I won’t be wearing scrubs on my way there. Or tonight after work.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue then closed it again. Harry might be an idiot, but he was _Louis’_ idiot. He slid off the bed and crossed to the closet door, where Harry was standing. He slipped an arm around Harry’s waist to pull him close. “Wear that shirt. You look proper fuckable in it,” he rasped before tugging Harry into a kiss that tasted like the lemon drops that Harry liked to suck on. 

When Louis pulled away, Harry dropped his head so they were forehead to forehead. “Miss you already,” he whispered.

Louis tried and failed to contain the stupid grin he felt coming on. “I am pretty wonderful, aren’t I?” he said airily. 

Harry laughed and buried his head in Louis’ hair and Louis reflected not for the first time that he could do this for the rest of his life. 

 

Louis and James had spent Thursday and Friday making edits to the profile and it was finally, blissfully _done._ Leaving the office on Friday afternoon had felt like a huge leaden weight being lifted from around his neck. He was possibly even a little excited to see what Harry thought about it. Writing the damned thing had probably taken five years off of Louis’ lifespan, but it was quite good, maybe even the best thing he’d written for _London Now._

For the moment though, Louis was content not to think of the profile at all. He called Niall and proposed a kickabout in the park. Zayn joined them, contenting himself with sketching and skulling red wine on a picnic blanket.

“You’re out of shape, Tommo! Domestic bliss has made you soft,” Niall teased as he stole the ball from Louis and took off across the grass. 

“Piss off,” Louis panted. “I can still wipe the pitch with your arse.”

“Bullshit!” Niall said as he proceeded to kick the ball into a group of teenage girls lounging on the grass nearby. He had the grace to at least look sheepish when he jogged over to retrieve it. When he returned, Louis was still laughing and even Zayn was smiling into his sketchpad. 

 

By noon, Niall and Louis had sweat through their jackets and both men’s trackies were streaked with grass stains. 

“Bow down to the victor!” Niall cackled as they exited the park.

“You got lucky,” Louis replied, tossing the football at his head.

“You’ve been jealous since I made striker in Year 10. Remember how mad you were?” Niall said, rubbing gingerly at his head.

“Remember how mad you were when I got MVP in Year 12?” Louis shot back.

“Oi, low blow!” said Niall.

“Will you both shut up?” said Zayn at last.

“Sorry, mate. It’s the price you pay for hating sports and having us as your best mates,” said Louis, ruffling Zayn’s hair and earning a stony glare.

“Sports are fine. But trash talk is toxic masculinity at its most transparent,” Zayn replied. 

“That’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever said,” Niall said reverently as Louis pretended to vomit into the nearest bin.

“Keep it in your pants until I’m gone, will you?”

“Fuck off,” Niall and Zayn said simultaneously. They looked at each other in shocked delight and burst out laughing.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Now don’t forget that we’re getting pints with Harry tomorrow night.”

“I doubt you’ll make it after the sex marathon that’s going to happen after he reads the profile,” said Niall. “He’ll probably propose when he sees the bit about that surgery he did in Birmingham.”

Louis tried not to smile. He was definitely more than a little excited for Harry to see what he’d written. “We’ll be there. And you two had better be on your best behavior.”

“You mean we shouldn’t tell him that you spent the first week you knew him hating his guts?” Zayn said.

Louis glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“It is, a little,” Niall chimed in. “Don’t be a tit, Lou. Of course we’re not going to say that. It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Louis sighed. “But Harry’s nervous and I just—like him. A lot.”

“I’m sure we will too. Besides, we could use a fresh face around here. I’m sick of you two,” said Niall.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you ask me to—“ Zayn started, but Louis cut him off. 

“I don’t want to know about your gross sex stuff!” he exclaimed, jamming his fingers in his ears.

“Whatever, have fun at lunch with all the doctors,” said Zayn as they reached the Tower Bridge Tube station.

* * *

“Lou! It’s been ages!” a familiar voice exclaimed as he approached the fourth floor nurse’s station. Louis beamed and hopped over the little barrier that separated nurses from visitors.

“Perrie!” he exclaimed, giving her a big hug and kiss on the cheek. “How’ve you been, love?”

“Same as always,” Perrie shrugged. As an afterthought, she added, “Except Harry’s been in a much better mood lately. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Louis shrugged as if to say ‘I do what I can.’

“I don’t suppose I have to give you the ‘you hurt him and I’ll kill you’ speech?” asked Perrie.

“No, I don’t suppose you do. I’m pretty sure Liam would beat you to it, anyway.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Perrie. “Are you here for lunch? I think Harry’s still in surgery but I can check.”

Louis waved her off. “I’ll just text him to meet me in the cafeteria when he’s done.”

Perrie nodded. “I would join you, but I’ve just started my shift. Stop by before you leave?”  Louis promised that he would and turned for the lifts. 

 

The closing doors were intercepted by an arm that Louis quickly realized was attached to Liam Payne. He had talked to Liam on the phone several times over the past two weeks for the profile, but hadn’t seem him in person since Harry had introduced them almost a month ago. He felt a sudden prick of nerves because Liam was Harry’s best mate and he’d always regarded Louis with a certain guardedness that Louis was eager to get past.

“Hullo, Dr. Payne! How are you?” he said, hitching a wide grin across his face.

Liam returned his smile as he stepped into the elevator. “You’re dating my best friend. I think we’re on a first name basis.”

Louis felt his insides unclench as he laughed. “Liam, then. Fancy a spot of lunch? I’m supposed to be meeting Harry in the cafeteria.”

Liam looked down at his watch. “Yeah, I can swing that. I’ve got a consult but that’s not till 2. Doing a heart replacement on a one year old next week.” There was no bravado in Lam’s tone. Rather, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth and his brow furrowed.

“Just another day at the office, then?” said Louis. 

Liam huffed out a small laugh. “Not exactly. It’s not normally so exciting.”

“Usually it’s just your run-of-the-mill saving children’s lives then?” 

Liam rolled his eyes. “You sound like Harry,” he said.

“Smart lad, our Harold,” Louis said, fighting to keep the fond out of his voice and failing miserably. Liam obviously heard it, because he smiled so widely his eyes crinkled at the corners.

* * *

Harry was _late._ He was so fucking late and Louis was going to kill him. He thought of Louis sitting all alone in the cafeteria, checking his phone and wondering where Harry was, and his power walk became a light jog. They were supposed to have met 30 minutes ago, but his routine liposuction had turned not so routine when the patient’s oxygen level had dropped and the surgery had run over by more than an hour.

As he sped past the nurse’s station, Perrie called after him, “Lou’s here! Has been for ages! He said he’ll be waiting in the cafeteria!” Harry cursed and sped toward the elevator, his stomach twisting guiltily. 

Less than a minute later, he was pushing through the double doors of the cafeteria, scanning the large room for Louis. He was half-expecting not to see him at all; he wouldn’t have blamed Louis for concluding that he was a no-show after more than half an hour. 

What Harry was _not_ expecting was to find Louis with his arm slung around Liam’s shoulders, both of them doing some kind of ridiculous chant while Ed laughed and threw sandwich crusts at them.

A few dazed steps closer revealed that they were singing a (slightly off-key) rendition of a Manchester United chant. “Take me home, United Road, to the place I belong, to Old Trafford to see United!” Liam bellowed in his low baritone while Louis sang the higher part between his giggles.

Louis sitting there with Harry’s best mates, acting like they were his own mates and making an effort and being completely charming was—well, it did something to Harry. Louis’ cheeks were pink and his fringe was messy and falling in his eyes a bit and Harry just really wanted to whisk him away. It was overpowering and absurd and remarkable.

 

At that moment, Liam glanced up and spotted him, Louis following his gaze a moment later. “Oh, hey Hazza!” Louis beamed, his eyes going crinkly around the edges. Harry was so surprised that he couldn’t even appreciate the magic of Louis’ crinkly-eyed smile. “Why didn’t you tell me that Leemo here is a ManU fan?”

“Hey?” Harry said, the word coming out as a question.

“You look confused,” said Louis, biting at his lip like he was trying not to laugh.

“No, I just—I’m late. I thought you’d be annoyed.”

“It’s no big deal, babe. You had surgery.” Harry was not too surprised to appreciate Louis calling him babe in front of other people. “Besides, you’re always late,” Louis added a moment later, his eyes gleaming.

“I am not!” Harry scoffed, glaring at Liam for his loud guffaw.

“You really are,” said Louis. “You were even late the first time we met. Remember, that first interview?” 

Harry was offended at the implication that he’d ever forget the first time he met Louis. He could still feel the air being punched out of his lungs just thinking about it.

Instead of saying any of that, Harry snorted and said, “Like I’d forget making a complete fool of myself.”

“Sounds about right,” said Ed. Liam and Louis snorted, because they were all dirty traitors. 

“And I call you people my friends,” Harry remarked drily.

Come over here and stop being stroppy,” Louis ordered him, pointing to the empty seat beside him. “I got you that turkey sandwich you said you liked. And your rabbit food.”

“Salad isn’t rabbit food,” Harry argued half-heartedly, sliding into the seat beside Louis and giving him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for getting my lunch. And waiting for me,” he added, dropping his voice so only Louis could hear him. Louis shot Harry one of his beautiful private smiles, the one where he bit at his lip and smiled over his teeth, blue eyes twinkling. It was one of Harry’s favorite smiles and it always made him a bit dizzy.

“Thank you for having friends that don’t suck. Ed and Liam are a right laugh. I didn’t care to wait.”

“Thank you for getting on so well with my friends,” said Harry, his voice almost a whisper.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Let’s stop thanking each other, shall we Harold?” he said lightly, taking one of Harry’s hands in his own and tracing the lines of his palm. “And don’t thank me for that, either,” he added softly. “I want to get on with everyone important to you. S’important to me.”

The skin that Louis was touching suddenly felt tingly and electric, even after Louis dropped his hand and turned to say something to Liam.

 

“Can I come over to yours tonight?” Harry asked as they emptied their trays twenty minutes later. Louis raised an eyebrow. “What about the dogs?” he asked.

“I’ll just pop out and feed them tomorrow morning.” He tried not to smile; he was a terrible liar and the truth was that he’s already arranged for Liam to feed and walk the dogs the next day. 

He, on the other hand, was going to wake up early, pick up breakfast for the two of them, and buy as many copies of _London Now_ ’s Sunday paper as he could get his hands on. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Louis’ face when he woke up to his favorite fry-up and a dozen copies of his story and a morning blowie. Harry grinned into the collar of his lab coat; he _loved_ surprises.

* * *

When Harry’s alarm went off the next morning, it took him several moments to register why in the hell he was awake at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. Louis obviously had the same thought because he grunted and nudged at Harry’s calf with his big toe.

“What the fuck, Harold?” he grumbled. “M’trying to get my beauty rest here.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “I’ve gotta run back to my place and feed the dogs.” He was glad that Louis was half-asleep because otherwise his stupid grin would have given him away.

“Hurry back,” said Louis. “M’horny.”

“You’re sleeping!” Harry laughed.

“Well I’ll be horny when I wake up,” Louis said without opening his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes as he slipped out of bed and pulled on last night’s jeans and one of Louis’ sweatshirts; the sleeves were too short but it was warm and smelled like Louis which was a win in Harry’s book.

 

December in London is cold. December in London at 7:30 in the morning is fucking _freezing._ Harry dug his hands deeper into his pockets and sped up, eyes trained on the corner store. He hoped that they carried Louis’ newspaper, because he didn’t fancy venturing any further into the arctic chill than he absolutely had to.

A gust of cold air announced his arrival to the elderly man behind the counter, who was sitting at a high stool and working on a crossword. He gave Harry a small smile and a nod and returned to his paper. Harry made a beeline for the news rack and scanned the papers until he found what he was looking for. 

“Aha!” he breathed, scooping up a large pile of _London Now_ newspapers.

“That’s a lot of papers,” the man behind the counter remarked as he rung Harry up. 

Harry beamed. “My boyfriend’s written a big story. I’m surprising him.”

The wrinkles around the shop clerk’s eyes disappeared as he grinned widely. “It wouldn’t be a romantic gesture without roses,” he said, gesturing to the display of bouquets in the window. 

Harry’s own smile widened as he dug in his pocket for his wallet. “You’re right. How much for a bouquet?”

The clerk waved him off with a wink. “No charge. Go knock his socks off, son.”

Usually, Harry would have insisted on paying, but he was pretty sure that this was the most romantic thing he’d ever been a part of and that this kind, elderly man might actually be his fairy godfather. He wasn’t about to jinx that, so he gave the clerk a smile that showed all his teeth and reached across the counter to shake his hand. 

“That is so kind,” he said earnestly. 

“Young love needs all the help it can get,” the man shrugged and Harry felt like maybe he had fallen onto the set of a rom-com. He thanked the man profusely and bustled out of the shop, arms heaped with newspapers and flowers.

 

Outside the store, Harry eagerly flipped through the papers, chuckling when two copies fell from the crook of his arm. He felt a bit guilty about not waiting for Louis to read the profile, but he’d been waiting for more than a month and he was dying for a peak at Louis’ big project. 

“Where—oh, here it is,” he murmured, spotting the words “Influential Londoners” in bold print at the top of page 3.

He looked at the headline. Then he blinked. Then he looked again. The words remained unchanged, black blocky script that began to swim the longer Harry stared at it:

“HARRY STYLES, PLASTIC SURGERY POSTER BOY, EXPOSES SUPERFICIAL SIDE OF MEDICINE.”

And right underneath it, Louis' name, clear as day. "A story by Louis William Tomlinson." Harry hadn't even known Louis' middle name.  

“That’s—no,” Harry heard himself saying. He felt his heartbeat thrumming through his entire body, pounding in his ears and echoing in his bones. He scanned the rest of the page, feeling his breathing go shallow when certain phrases jumped out at him: “makes his living ‘fixing people’s flaws,’” “money meant for a cancer research institute,” “reinforcing oppressive and often harmful standards of beauty.” 

His brain was cataloguing every detail of this moment with exact precision while simultaneously moving through mud. He could feel his throat prickling and his stomach lurching and something in his chest splintering. _“So this is what this feels like,”_ Harry remembered thinking to himself in a tone of utter calm that was eons away from the way he felt right now. 

 

Harry didn’t remember walking home, but he did remember knocking on his own front door with the hand that wasn’t still dumbly clutching a bouquet of roses. He’d left his key and his phone at Louis’ flat, he realized with a sharp stinging in his chest that took his breath away. 

Liam opened the door, a can of dog-food in one hand and his face scrunched in confusion. 

“Hazza? What’re you doing here? I thought you’d still be with Louis.”

Harry felt his face crumple. “Haz? Harry, what’s going on?” Liam asked. 

Harry handed him the newspaper. “I—the story,” he said dully.

Liam looked down at the paper and Harry could see the moment that it dawned on him, the moment that his whole face darkened.

“What the—? This can’t be right,” he sputtered. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Harry didn’t say anything. “Haz, he—he interviewed me,” said Liam. “We talked about your charity work. He—that’s what he said he was writing about.”

Harry still didn’t say anything. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Liam clearly hadn’t because he was still rambling, his tone becoming more heated with every word.

“I don’t understand. He said he was writing about the charity work. I can’t believe this. I—I’m gonna go talk to him.”

That was enough to snap Harry from his stupor.

“No you’re not,” he said, his voice both quiet and deadly serious. 

Liam crossed his arms, mouth set in a deep frown. “Harry, there’s got to be a misunderstanding. And if there’s not I’m going to go kick his arse.”

 

Harry took a long, deep breath that he hoped would make him feel like he was no longer having a panic attack. When he had exhaled, his head was still ringing. He was so tired. He had never felt this tired in his life and he wanted to sleep for the next 40 years.

“You’re not going to talk to him,” Harry said with more composure than he felt. “And you’re not going to stay around here while I feel sorry for myself,” he said firmly, cutting across Liam who had just opened his mouth to speak. “You’re going to go to the hospital and you’re going to go save someone’s life. And then you’re going to go home to your fiancé.”

“Haz—,” Liam started, but Harry put one hand up.

“I know, Li, okay? I know you’re trying to be a good friend but I just need some time to—.” He didn’t finish that sentence. Because the truth was he needed time to reconcile the fact that he was an idiot. That he had fallen in love with someone who had never cared for him at all. That his professional reputation was likely destroyed and that Louis was the person responsible. Louis—who had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen; who touched Harry like he was made of glass and looked at him like he was some rare work of art; who he’d woken up next to this morning.

Liam couldn’t have seen all that in his face, but he must have seen enough because he crowded into Harry’s space and scooped him into a bone-crushing hug. “This sucks, but we’re going to get through it,” he mumbled in Harry’s ear. “I promise,” he added once he’d pulled away.

Harry tried to smile. It felt and probably looked like a grimace. He didn’t care. He just wanted to be alone, to sleep and stop thinking for as long as he could. 

“I’ll call you later, Li,” said Harry with what he hoped was an air of finality. It worked because Liam sighed, giving him one more hug before heading for the door. “I’ll stop by later. Text me if you need anything, promise?”

Harry nodded, knowing full well that he would not be texting Liam. Once Liam was gone, Harry chucked the papers and roses into the kitchen bin and slid down the fridge until he was sitting on the hardwood. Latte looked up from her food bowl and studied Harry with her tiny brown head cocked to the side. Lucy stopped gulping water to do the same. It was in that moment, sitting on his kitchen floor with his dogs, that Harry broke down.


	9. -9-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, this took forever because it's a monster. I really really hope you like it and apologize for excessive sappiness.
> 
> Your comments mean the world, so drop me a line with all of your thoughts !!

After Harry left to feed the dogs at the arse crack of dawn, Louis slept through the various buzzing and pinging noises that his phone made. It was Sunday morning and he had no use for anything that wasn’t Harry’s wide, sinful mouth or Harry’s absurdly large hands or piping hot breakfast food (or best of all, a combination of all three). 

It wasn’t until he heard a forceful pounding on the front door that he reluctantly hopped out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt. He wasn’t sure why Harry was bothering to knock, but he figured that 10am was as good a time as any to get up and start the day. 

Maybe Louis would make them both pancakes, he reflected absently as he traipsed across his living space. Then they’d go out and get a copy of _London Now_ so that Harry could read the profile.

“Door’s open, love, he called out, his voice raspy from a combination of sleep and the enthusiastic blow job he’d given Harry the day before. 

 

The door swung open, revealing not Harry’s tall, lanky frame, but Liam’s bulkier, more muscular one. 

“Liam? What’re you doing here?” Louis asked. “Is—it’s not Harry, is it? Is Harry okay?” he demanded, feeling his throat go dry in an instant.

Liam didn’t say anything and Louis was about a second away from running across the room and shaking him when he spotted the newspaper in Liam’s hand. 

“What’s that? What’s going on?” said Louis, feeling utterly lost.

Liam brandished the paper at him and with what sounded like an air of forced calm, he said, “I’m going to give you one chance to explain yourself, Louis.” Louis caught sight of the headline and his blood turned to ice.

Liam was still talking, but Louis didn’t hear a word because the only thing he had room in his brain for was _Harry._ Harry reading the wrong words, feeling ambushed and angry and confused because something had gone horribly wrong and Harry _knew_. 

“You told me that you were writing about the Rainbow Clinic. And you told Haz that you cared about him and we all believed you. So you get one chance to explain what in the fuck is going on,” Liam finished, looking at Louis with a mixture of anger and expectancy. 

 

“I—I’ve got to talk to Harry,” Louis stammered breathlessly, desperately. His throat was closing up. He couldn’t breathe. He had to see Harry right fucking _now._ He tried to push past Liam, through the open door, but Liam stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Not to be that guy, but Harry is my best friend and I’m a black belt, so I _will_ knock your lights out unless you start explaining in the next three seconds.”

Louis snatched the paper from Liam and scanned the page. “Jesus Christ! This is the wrong draft. It’s all wrong, It wasn’t supposed to run this way.”

“Then how was it supposed to run?” Liam demanded, still looking mutinous.

“It—exactly the way I told you, Liam. It was about his work at the clinic and the high-risk surgeries he’s done and the way he is with everyone at the hospital. All the stuff we talked about, I swear. You’ve got to believe me.”

At the look on Liam’s face, Louis added, “Listen, I wrote that story. I wrote it a long time ago before I really knew Harry, but I did write it, and it was a huge fucking mistake. Fortunately I pulled my head out of my arse about a month ago and started writing something completely different.”

“So why in the hell is this one in the papers?” Liam demanded, sounding almost as furiously bewildered as Louis felt.

“I—I have no fucking clue,” Louis rambled, clutching at his hair as he tried to remember anything that James may have said to indicate that the wrong story was running. “My editor told me—he promised me that he was going to run the other one.”

Liam still looked doubtful so Louis grabbed his laptop from the coffee table and practically threw it at him. 

“Here, read the final draft on my computer. Please.”

By the time he was done reading, Liam looked less like he wanted to punch Louis in the face, and Louis took that as permission to say, “I’ve got to talk to Harry. Liam, please, I—fuck, he must be so confused. I’ve got to tell him the whole story.”

“I still think you’re a fucking arsehole for writing the first story,” said Liam.

“I know,” Louis said at once. “The biggest fucking arsehole.” 

Liam sighed. “But Harry deserves to know the full story. Go talk to him. And bring him his phone and keys. He left them here.”

Louis nodded and jumped up to throw on proper clothes.

“Oh, and Louis?” Liam said from the door. Louis looked up.

“If you ever hurt him like this again, I will fucking kill you and make it look like an accident.”

For someone who saves children’s lives for a living, Liam Payne could be fucking scary. In the tiny section of his brain that wasn’t in full meltdown, Louis registered feeling grateful that Harry had a best mate like Liam.

* * *

Harry didn’t know what time it was, but he did know that he was still sitting on the kitchen floor, one of the copies of _London Now_ at his feet and his dogs on either side of him. Either out of curiosity or the savage urge to punish himself, Harry had read the entire article four times now. It hurt worse every time and he clung to that pain, dug into it and let it wash over him in big, lung-clenching waves.

He had just started thinking about how excruciating it was going to be to show his face at the hospital when Louis knocked at the door.  He knew that it was Louis because Louis always knocked four times—a firm knock, two gentle knocks, and another firm knock. It was like hearing a popular song on the radio; Harry could have recognized the rhythm in his sleep. Those four raps on his door were enough to make Harry’s stomach clench; he felt seasick—unmoored and totally unprepared.

He also knew that Louis wasn’t going to go away until he answered the door. His boy was stubborn and he could be patient when he wanted something. _“Not your boy anymore,”_ Harry corrected himself at once. Louis had never really been his to begin with, he realized with a barbed wire breath that caught jaggedly in his throat. 

Still Harry sat, staring numbly into space, until Louis said his name. It was muffled by a thick layer of wood, but it still jolted straight through Harry. The dogs heard too; their ears perked up at the familiar voice and both of them looked from Harry to the door.

“Harry, please,” came Louis’ voice from behind the door. “Please talk to me. I know that you saw the story, but you have to let me explain everything.”

Harry allowed himself ten deep breaths before hoisting himself up, wincing at the cramp in his calf. Outside the door, he allowed himself another ten breaths, praying for a sense of composure he didn’t feel.

 

Louis had clearly been leaning against the door, because when Harry opened it he practically fell into the flat. He recovered quickly, straightening up and flicking his hair from his eyes. He looked like Harry felt—dazed and miserable, like he was suspended in some kind of inexplicable noxious fog. His blue eyes were somehow both dull and over-bright and in spite of it all, Harry still _wanted_ , wanted Louis so much that it made his head spin. 

“What do you want, Louis?” Harry asked. He had meant it to sound angry, but it came out tired and small. 

Louis’ eyes raked over Harry and the deepening of his frown confirmed that Harry also looked like shit. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy, like he hadn’t used it for a while or had a bad cough. “I want to tell you what happened. And to tell you how sorry I am. And to try and make it better.”

Harry looked away, because he couldn’t stand Louis’ bright blue stare anymore. “Good luck with that,” he said.

“Harry, please. Baby, you have to let me explain—,” Louis stammered, reaching forward. In the second that their hands were touching, Harry could feel that Louis’ were shaking badly.

He choked back a sob and wrenched his hands out of Louis’. “Explain how you drug my reputation through the mud for the entire fucking city to see? Yeah, no thanks.”

“No, Harry, please listen. You were never supposed to see that draft. No one was. None of it was supposed to happen this way, I promise.”

“You promise?” Harry repeated with a bitter laugh. “I hate to break it to you, Louis, but your promises don’t mean a fucking thing to me.”

Louis nodded and when he spoke, his voice was breathy and overtly pleading. “I deserve that. I know you’re angry and you have every right to be, but if you just let me explain—.”

Harry cut him off mid-sentence, his voice quavery and rough and alien to his own ears. “One thing I would like to know is why you bothered with all of this.” He motioned between them. 

“Like—you told me you wanted to date me. You slept at my place. You—you met my mum for fuck’s sake. Was it a way to get more information for your story? Or was I just an easy fuck to you?” 

As he spoke, it felt like a lump of concrete was scratching at the back of his throat, his voice going thick with it. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears and the room suddenly felt about ten degrees warmer. 

“Or was it all just a big joke?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

Louis looked aghast, his mouth falling open and his eyes wide, desperate. “Harry, no. I would—I’d never do that. It’s—it was all real. Every second we were together. I care about you so much.” 

The words tumbled out of his mouth haphazardly and when a tear spilled down his cheek, he wiped it away impatiently and continued to stare right into Harry’s face. It made his stomach churn.

“Right, so I don’t believe you. And also you can get the fuck out of my flat now.” He tried to keep his voice bored and detached, but it came out broken and horribly shaky.

“Please, you have to listen. Just let me tell you the whole story. Please.” Louis was begging. He was begging and there were tears in his eyes and Harry really needed a glass of water because his throat was closing up now and he felt like he might pass out. 

“I’m—I can’t. I’m done with your stories, Lou,” he choked out, turning for his room and leaving Louis standing by the door. 

 

When he returned to the living room an hour later, his phone and key were sitting on the coffee table on top of a note in Louis’ untidy scrawl. 

_H— I’m so sorry for everything._

Harry threw the note into the bin, vomited into the toilet, and returned to his bed for the next 18 hours.

* * *

Harry was supposed to have been at the pub that night. He was supposed to have gone with Louis to meet Niall and Zayn and the weight of his absence hung over the table like a thick, suffocating fog. One look at Niall and Zayn confirmed that they had seen that day’s paper.

“I went and—.” His voice cracked and Niall wrapped him in a tight hug. “I went and talked to Harry,” he said into Niall’s shoulder.

“Oh, Lou,” Niall said, tightening his grip around Louis’ shoulders. 

Louis pulled away and wiped hastily at his eyes. “Yeah, well. Only got meself to blame, right? Got what I deserved, after all.”

Niall and Zayn exchanged worried looks that Louis pretended not to see. “I’d like to get pissed now,” he announced. “Like, can’t-remember-my-own-name pissed.”

Niall, who had never turned down an opportunity to drink in the 15 years that Louis had known him, frowned and said, “Are you sure that’s going to make you feel better, Lou?”

Louis snorted. “Nothing’s going to make me feel better. Hence the getting so pissed I can’t remember my own name.”

“I’ll go get shots then” said Niall, hoisting himself up and heading for the bar. Louis loved his best mates a lot.

 

When Niall was gone, Zayn took his spot next to Louis.  “You get one drunken night of misery, got it?”

Louis said nothing and Zayn scowled. “Don’t make me do the speech, Louis.”

Louis still said nothing and Zayn sighed.

“Listen, you should have told him about the stupid article. It was stupid and selfish not to. He deserved to know going into it. But we’re not going to let you go into a downward spiral and fuck up your whole life because you made a mistake. You are a good person. You worked your arse off to write that profile the right way and no one can take that away from you. And you have people in your corner who love you and we’re not going away.”

Louis gaped at him. In three years, he had never heard Zayn speak for so long at one time. The shock was probably what made him blurt out, “I’m already halfway in love with him. Harry. More, probably.”

The almost exasperated expression on Zayn’s face told Louis that this was not news to him. Louis buried his head in his hands. “He’s such a good person. So good for me. And I hurt him so badly. Jesus, you should have seen his face today.”

“What’d I miss?” Niall asked, plopping into the booth. 

“Lou’s in love,” said Zayn.

“Oh,” said Niall.

“Can we not talk anymore?” said Louis.

 

Niall and Zayn made a commendable effort of distracting Louis from the Harry situation, but after three drinks, it became very clear that Louis was not to be distracted.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to not talk at all?” Niall asked after their third failed attempt at conversation.

Louis loved his best mates a lot. “Not talk,” he mumbled into his drink.

“Right then,” Niall said matter-of-factly. “Tell us if you change your mind and you’re getting cut off after eight drinks.” He turned to Zayn and began talking to him about how Nick had bet him he couldn’t eat seven Bakewell tarts in one sitting.

Soon it was far too late for proper adults to be drinking on a Sunday night, but Niall and Zayn dutifully stuck by Louis’ side. Louis drank and they talked to one another with a quiet kind of intimacy that seemed both new and very familiar. Louis wondered whether something had changed between them. 

 

“What’s up with you and Niall?” he asked Zayn after they had stepped out of the pub for a smoke. 

“We’re kind of together now,” Zayn said in a bored voice, as if this wasn’t a huge development.

“What?” Louis demanded, choking on a puff of smoke he’d just inhaled. “Since when?” he coughed.

Zayn shrugged. “A few weeks. We’ve been fucking around for three years now, y’know? Figured it was time to get our shit together and give things a proper try.”

Neither of them said anything until they had both smoked their cigarettes down to the filter. 

“I think that’s brilliant, Zee. I really do,” Louis said at last. He wiped at his eyes, which suddenly felt prickly. “You both—you really deserve it. Both of you.”

Zayn pulled him into a tight hug that said “thank you,” and “I’m sorry,” and “you deserve it, too.” When he’d pulled away, he patted Louis on the cheek and, in a voice that was a bit rougher than usual, said, “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Louis’ hangover the next day was monstrous. He didn’t feel any better the day after, or the day after that. Time passed. Louis was abjectly miserable and time passed.

Surely it couldn’t be that hard to get over someone you’ve only just met. Six weeks. He’d known Harry six fucking weeks.

But here he was, more than a month after the profile had run, and he was a wreck. 

He got out of bed every morning and he wrote until it was dark outside. He drank most of his calories and he’d taken up smoking again and he started getting surprise visits from Niall, who always said that he was “just checking in.” 

Louis was fairly certain that “just checking in” was code for “your mum sent me to make sure you’re not dead.” After the third time this happened, Louis resolved to start acting like a semi-functional adult before the two of them staged an intervention. That meant putting something in his body that wasn’t alcohol, coffee, or cigarettes. And _that_ meant that a Tesco run was in order.

Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d been grocery shopping; he hadn’t needed to when he’d been spending most nights at Harry’s flat and after that he hadn’t needed to because he was never hungry.

 

He was browsing the yoghurts and waiting for inspiration to strike when he heard a voice behind him that stopped his heart. It was the voice that had haunted him for the last 32 days. It was _Harry’s_ voice.

“You’re full of shit, Liam! Sophia would kill us if we went to Ibiza for the stag do!”

There was laughter in his voice and Louis shut his eyes, crushed by the weight of what hearing Harry’s voice did to him. He turned and saw Harry and it felt like getting hit by a train. 

He was talking on the phone and carrying a basketful of healthy Harry food, dressed in his favorite pink scrubs with his hair was falling around his face in loose waves. He looked tired but achingly beautiful.

Every single cell in Louis’ body was thrumming, pushing him toward Harry. He didn’t even know what his plan was once he arrived; he just knew that Harry was miraculously _here_ and that somehow, Louis hadn’t realized just how terribly he’d missed him until this moment.

Harry didn’t see him until he was an aisle or so away, and when he did, his plush lips parted around a silent, “oh,” his eyes widening in what might have been shock or horror or both. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, like someone who’s seen a ghost, and that was enough to stop Louis in his tracks. 

Louis wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but it can’t have been long because the phone was still pressed to Harry’s ear and Liam must have been on the other end asking why Harry had gone quiet. 

“I—,” Harry said, still staring at Louis. “I have to go.”

He bolted, his abandoned basket of fruit and veg the only evidence that he’d been there at all. 

Louis dazedly paid for the few items he’d managed to pick out and left the store himself, resigned to the fact that acting like a proper adult was going to have to wait.

* * *

Harry was not in the mood to socialize. To be fair, he hadn’t been in the mood to do anything other than lay in bed for the past month, but he especially wasn’t in the mood to socialize today. Not after Tesco, seeing Louis and just completely shutting down. Louis had looked like shit and Harry still wanted him so badly that it felt like an electric shock. He already knew he was weak but seeing Louis today had made it even more amply, horribly clear.

After that, the only thing he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and sleep until his rhinoplasty tomorrow afternoon. Unfortunately, he had already cancelled on Nick twice in the past week and he couldn’t beg off again without feeling like a total prick.

He liked Nick a lot, but he knew that Nick was going to want to talk about Louis and the stupid bloody article and “how he was holding up,” and that wasn’t something Harry did. 

He hadn’t talked about it to anyone, not really. Liam and his mum and Gemma and Perrie and everyone else in his life had tried after the profile was published, but Harry had gone silent and dead behind the eyes until they gave up and changed the subject. He knew how immature, selfish and emotionally irresponsible he was being. He also knew that talking about Louis would break him open and that just wasn’t something he could do when he had a job where people died if he fucked up.

 

Nick was already at the pub when he arrived, and he had Harry’s pint waiting for him. Harry took a long, grateful swig, wondering how long he had before Nick asked about Louis. He was betting on five minutes or so.

“So. Are you going to bring it up or should I?” Nick asked.

Harry lowered his glass warily. “Can we not?” he said tightly.

Nick chose to ignore that. “I nearly kicked his arse when I read the profile,” he said. “It was—he’d never told me he was writing it that way.” 

Harry felt a small knot in his chest loosen. At least Nick hadn’t known the whole time.

“But then I found out what actually happened,” Nick continued. “That article was never supposed to get published. It was a first draft. He’d rewritten it completely. Worked crazy over-time for weeks to get it done before the issue went to press.”

Harry felt a pang, his mind hurtling back to the nights he’d woken to the dull glow of Louis’ laptop screen and Louis’ murmured assurances that he was working and that he’d be done in a moment.

“Harry, none of it was supposed to happen this way. He told me himself.”

Harry snorted. “And you believed him?”

“He’s miserable, Hazza.”

Harry thought about the way Louis had looked in Tesco, thin and pale and exhausted with purple circles under his eyes and cheekbones hollower than they’d been three weeks ago.

“Good,” he said, picking savagely at a hangnail.

 

“He quit his job.”

The revelation hung heavily in the air for a solid twelve seconds.

“I don’t—what?”

“When our editor ran the first article instead of Louis’ rewrite, he also gave Louis a big promotion. A seat at the political correspondent’s desk, just like he wanted. But Louis didn’t take it. He packed up his office and left.”

Harry’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what this meant and how he was supposed to feel about it. 

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked with a terrible attempt at loftiness.

Nick didn’t dignify that with a response; he just pursed his lips and gave Harry a look.

Harry stared into his drink and changed the subject. “I heard Alexa broke up with what’s-his-face. Y’know, the Scottish bloke?”

Thankfully, Nick couldn’t resist a bit of gossip and he took the bait. Either that or he took pity on Harry and let him change the subject without comment. Either way, Harry was grateful.

 

Pleasantly buzzed after two more pints, Harry was feeling slightly guilty that he’d been dreading this so much. Everything didn’t have to be about Louis. Who had quit his job. Who had begged Harry to hear him out. Who had looked like a ghost of himself when Harry saw him today. Harry felt his stomach plummet. Seeing Louis like that made him ache.

“Everything okay, Haz? You look like you’re about to cry,” said Nick.

“I’m fine,” Harry lied. “Just tired. I should probably head out.”

Nick probably knew Harry was lying. He didn’t call him on it and Harry appreciated it immensely. Instead, he nodded, set down a tenner on the table, and slid from his seat.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Give me a shout if you need anything,” Nick said as he shrugged on his coat.

Harry swallowed around the scratchy lump in his throat. “Thanks, mate,” he said.

“Oh, and Harry?” Nick said as they both reached the door. 

“Yeah?”  
“You’ll want to buy this Sunday’s copy of _The Times_.”

* * *

Harry didn’t sleep well on Saturday night. He hadn’t been sleeping soundly for more than a month now—he kept having hellishly vivid dreams about a world in which the profile was never published, in which he and Louis were together and he was stupidly happy. He would wake up and lay in bed for hours, wondering when the ache in his chest would subside into something less acute, something more bearable.

Saturday night was especially bad because there was also Nick’s comment about the Sunday _Times_ , which made him so fidgety and frustrated that he felt like he could crawl out of his skin. He didn’t want to care what was in the stupid bloody _Times_ , which added a thick layer of shame to the anxiety lying heavily in the bottom of his stomach. By the time he fell into a restless sleep around 3, he felt like a dirty washrag wrung dry. 

 

He had no idea how long he slept, but the sun was high in the sky and bathing his room in an unseasonably warm light when he woke up to insistent knocking at his front door.

An eager Mrs. Humphreys was there in her dressing gown, clutching a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. His neighbor brandished the paper at him, grinning broadly. “You’re in _The Times_ , dear!” she said.

Harry blinked blearily at her. “Pardon?”

“Look! Front page of Life and Style!” she said, sounding impressed as she waved the paper at him again.

He accepted it and looked at the page in front of him. “DR. HARRY STYLES PROVES PLASTIC SURGERY IS ABOUT MORE THAN A PRETTY FACE.” Underneath the headline, a caption added, “Journalist Louis Tomlinson sets the record straight about Dr. Styles.”

He looked up at Mrs. Humphreys, who was peering at him expectantly, as if waiting for Harry to explain. 

“Could I keep this?” he asked. She had only just started to nod when he rushed out a “thanks,” and shut the door, leaning against it and looking back down at the paper. 

 

An hour later, Harry had fed the dogs and moved to the couch with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. He had just finished reading Louis’ article for the fourth time and he had his favorite bits memorized.

It was moving; it was all the best parts of him; it was his work and his life captured in a way that made him glow with pride.

Louis hadn’t written about the nature of their relationship, but he had written that “Harry Styles is brave, whether he’s performing a high-risk medical procedure with a steady hand or giving his time and his heart to a marginalized community in need.” He had said that “it’s impossible to visit London Bridge Hospital without seeing that Dr. Styles improves lives. I’m not even talking about the considerable skill with which he performs surgery. I mean the kindness, the curiosity, and the overwhelming sincerity with which he approaches everyone he meets.” That bit might have made Harry cry, a little.

_Louis_ had done that; and Harry had no clue what to do with that. He had spent so much of the last month talking himself away from every gorgeous part of Louis and of what they’d been, and now here they were, laid bare in neat black script. 

 

He ended up calling his mum because he should have done it a long time ago and because there was no one else he wanted to talk to.

“Did you—uh, did you see _The Times_ today?” he asked.

“You know I did,” his mum said. “Are you finally ready to talk about Louis?”

“I’m not really sure I have a choice.”

“Of course you do,” said Anne. “The article in _The Times_ doesn’t have to change anything.”

Harry didn’t say anything to that, and he didn’t have to because they both knew that it changed everything.

“It was a beautiful article,” Anne ventured. 

“It was—confusing,” Harry said after a long pause.

His mum hummed. “I can imagine. What do you want to do?”

“I’ve no clue,” he said. He just wanted his mum to tell him exactly what he should do. Was that too much to ask? “What do you think?”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I think that love is messy, and I think that good people make mistakes.”

That was much less specific than Harry was hoping for. When he only responded with a vague scoffing noise, she gently added, “He adores you, Harry.”

“How can you know that?” Harry managed in a choky sort of whisper.

“I saw you together,” Anne said simply.

* * *

It took Harry three weeks after that. Twenty one days of enduring his friends tip-toeing around him, waiting to see what he was going to do. Twenty one days of reading the _London Now_ profile and poking at the hurt that it hollowed out in his chest, observing how it hurt less each time. Twenty one days of thinking about Louis: missing him and trying to hate him and wondering how he was doing and whether he was eating properly and taking care of himself. He was fucked from the beginning, really.

The twenty second day was a Sunday. Two months since the profile had run in _London Now._ Two months since he’d heard Louis’ voice or touched him or seen his private, crinkle-eyed smile. 

He’d gone on a date the night before. A girl who worked at his favorite coffee shop had asked him out for drinks; she was cute and funny and Harry didn’t like telling people no. He might have also wanted to see what dating would be like in a post-Louis world. It had been— _nice._ The pub she’d chosen had been nice. She had been nice. They had chatted and laughed and the chaste kiss they’d shared at the end of the night had been nice.

But on the twenty second day, Harry got out of bed, fed his dogs, and walked to Louis’ flat for the first time in two months.

 

He didn’t hesitate until he was in front of Louis’ front door, examining a small chip in the paint. For one absurd moment, he was convinced that there was going to be another guy, a very tall and beautiful guy who would laugh in Harry’s face and inform him that Louis had moved on and that he could fuck right off. Harry stubbornly ignored that wriggling tendril of fear and rapped on the door. 

When Louis opened it, he looked rumpled and slightly disoriented, like Harry had woken him from a nap. He was wearing trackies and Harry’s lavender jumper, which Harry had never realized that he’d left here. He wondered how many times Louis had worn it. He wondered if it smelled like Louis now. 

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Harry said because he needed to say it out loud before he believed it.

Louis tugged self-consciously at one of the too-long sleeves. He stared into Harry’s face and then looked away, like looking at Harry hurt him.

“I’m—Harry, hi. Sorry, I should have returned it. I can—I’ll wash it and send it to you, if you want.”

His cheeks were flushed a deep pink. The color was beautiful on him.

“I’m not here for my jumper, Louis,” Harry heard himself say.

“You’re not?”

Harry shook his head, took a deep breath. “I want you to tell me everything,” he said, taking a step into Louis’ flat.

“Before, you told me that you could explain everything. So I want you to explain. Please,” he added.

Louis looked lost. Harry really wanted to touch him. He didn’t let himself, not yet. Instead, he walked straight past him and to the couch, where he carefully perched himself.

Louis rubbed at his eyes, like he couldn’t believe what they were showing him. Harry crossed one leg over the other and cleared his throat. The sound seemed to snap Louis out of a trance. He walked toward the couch, started to sit next to Harry, then seemed to think better of it and perched himself on a chair across from him instead.

Louis fidgeted for several long moments while Harry watched, tracking the frenetic movements and looking at his hands, the tattoos on his wrist and forearm. 

He was so absorbed that Louis’ voice made him jump. When he looked up, Louis was staring at him. It was mildly disconcerting. Somehow, he’d forgotten precisely how blue Louis’ eyes were and he suddenly felt short of breath.

 

“Right,” Louis started. “So, um, when we met, I was really determined not to like you.”

Harry listened as Louis explained how he had been assigned the profile, how he had decided that it could be his chance to escape the Life and Style section, how he had written the first draft even though it got harder the more time they spent together. He told Harry about Birmingham, how he’d told his editor that he couldn’t use the first draft before anything happened between them and how his editor had sworn that he would publish Louis’ rewrite.

“So why didn’t he?” Harry asked.

Louis’ fists clenched in his lap. “Our editor-in-chief went over his head. Gave publishing the other story without consulting anyone. Which is exactly how Simon Cowell works,” Louis said bitterly.

“Fortunately, when I told _The Times_ about how the whole thing had gone down, they were really interested in publishing the other story. It probably helped that they’ve had a grudge against Simon since he left their staff in the late 90’s. And that I told them that I’d go to every paper in town until someone published the right story.”

Harry considered him for a long moment. “You would have?” he finally asked.

“Course I would have,” Louis scoffed. “It’s bad enough, what I did to you with that first story. I wasn’t going to let that be the only thing people saw. They needed to see who you really are and what you do for people.” 

He suddenly sounded fierce. Harry felt a crushingly warm and tingly sensation rising up from the pit of his stomach. There were tears in his eyes and he wasn’t even embarrassed by them. 

“You fucking arsehole. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Harry sniffled, wiping a hasty hand over his eyes. “So I wouldn’t have been blind-sided by the whole thing?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry, it was so shitty. I just—everything was happening so quickly and I was selfish. I didn’t want you to hate me, so I told myself that you’d never have to find out.”

“Didn’t work out too well, did it?” Harry laughed wetly.

Louis made a choky noise that was something between a laugh and a sob. “No, I fucked things up pretty spectacularly.”

Harry snorted, which made Louis laugh, which made Harry laugh harder. Soon they were laughing so had they had tears in their eyes. Eventually, Louis’ smile faded.

 

“There’s one more thing I have to tell you.”

“What?” Harry asked. 

Louis bit at his bottom lip and looked down through his lashes. He appeared to be steeling himself. When he looked up, his eyes were a gold-tinged cerulean that knocked the breath out of Harry. 

“You're the only thing I think about and I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I did. If you can—if you give me another chance, I will never betray you that way ever again. Because I want to be with you so fucking badly.”

“Did you practice that ahead of time or did you think of it on the spot?” Harry said so that he didn’t say something completely ridiculous along the lines of “I'm in love with you,” or “Marry me.”

“Harry,” Louis said. He sounded a little exasperated and a little fond and a little terrified. 

“I’m sorry, that was—Jesus, Louis, can you come sit on the fucking couch, please?” 

 

Louis surged forward, nearly flopping onto the couch and pivoting his body so that he was facing Harry. Harry could smell his lemony shampoo, could see an eyelash that had fallen onto the sharp jut of his cheekbone. He wanted to touch him so he did, took his hand and turned it around in his own. 

“You know, I was really determined not to like you too, after after everything that happened,” he said, examining their hands. “Self preservation, y’know? But there was a problem.”

“Yeah?” Louis said quietly.

Harry nodded. “You’re kind of my favorite person,” he said. “And I can’t forgive you, not yet. But I want to try, because it turns out I don’t think I’m capable of hating you.”

Louis looked like he was going to pass out. Harry felt like he was going to pass out if he didn’t get Louis closer to him. He shuffled forward on the couch and gripped Louis’ arm with his free hand, guiding him forward.

“I want to kiss you really badly,” he admitted when there was less than a foot between them.

“Please,” Louis whispered.

Louis opened for him almost immediately, whimpering into Harry’s mouth with the desperation of two months without this. It wasn't long before Harry was scrabbling into Louis’ lap, tangling a hand in the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck, breathing hotly into Louis’ ear, nosing up his jaw. 

“Fuck, Lou. Missed you so much. So fucking much, you have no idea.”

Louis tipped Harry’s chin up so they were face-to-face again. “Oh, I have an idea,” he said seriously. “I missed you every second. Missed your pretty lips and your gorgeous laugh and your stupid jokes and your pink scrubs and your curls. Felt like dying, not being able to see you.” 

Harry leaned in for another kiss, sucking on Louis’ bottom lip and snaking a hand under his shirt, relishing the sensation of Louis’ abs twitching against his hand. 

 

When Louis pulled away, Harry whined and leaned in closer, nipping at his earlobe when he turned away.

“Harry, wait a moment,” he said, his voice firm. It was enough to make Harry’s heart turn to stone. He scrambled out of Louis’ lap and looked down at his hands.

“Harry, look at me,” said Louis. He looked up when he felt Louis tucking himself into Harry’s side. 

“I want you so badly I think I might explode,” Louis said. “But I don’t want to jump back into things too quickly and have you regret it. I’m not going to fuck this up again. You’re too important, and I want to give you time.”

Harry bit at his lip. On one hand, he wanted to fuck Louis into the couch right now while he was still wearing Harry’s jumper. He wanted to mark Louis with his mouth and take Louis down until he was choking on him, until the only thing he could taste and see and feel was _LouisLouisLouis_. On the other hand, Louis was definitely right. Working through the last three months was going to be hard and strange already, and adding sex to that equation right away was just going to make everything harder and stranger.

“So we’re not having sex,” Harry sighed.

“I think that would be a mistake,” said Louis.

“So what should we do?”

At the word ‘we,’ Louis’ face melted into his perfect, blissed-out, crinkle-eyed grin. Harry’s stomach somersaulted.

“Can we go see the dogs?” Louis asked. “I’ve kind of missed them a lot.”

Harry beamed. “Yeah, we could do that,” he said. 

Louis squeezed his hand and for the first time in a long time, Harry felt weightless. 


	10. -epilogue-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crying in a cool way. enjoy the ending, folks :)

_ 18 months later. _

 

“I swear to God, Harold! If you make us late I’m leaving you and running away with Grimmy,” Louis announced from his perch on the edge of Harry’s living room couch. His knee bobbed as he checked his watch for the third time that minute.

“Piss off, I’m coming!” Harry called from the bedroom. Louis heard Harry’s clumsy, baby giraffe footsteps in the hallway and his voice grew closer. “You’re so paranoid, Lou. We don’t even have to be there for another hour.” 

Louis opened his mouth to reply, but his snappy retort was forgotten once he got a look at Harry. He was _sinful_ in his tux, all clean black edges and pushed back curls and the shadow of strong shoulders against expensive fabric. They’d been together more than a year now, but Harry still took his breath away, Louis realized as a sharp inhalation of air was punched from his lungs. Louis could drown in him. 

Harry must have caught on to the effect he was having because when they made eye contact, he smirked and bit down on his bottom lip. 

“Haz,” Louis muttered, sliding off the couch and bridging the short distance between them. “You look incredible.”

Harry grinned. “I had to look good tonight. My brilliant, fit boyfriend’s winning _The Guardian_ ’s Young Journalist of the Year Award. It’s a pretty big deal.”

 

Louis wanted to kiss the smug little smile off his face so he did. He tangled his hand into the hair at Harry’s nape and tugged so that his mouth fell open and he let out a beautiful little whimpering noise. 

“What if I fucked you right now?” Louis whispered into his ear. “Then everyone there would see the marks I left on you, see how fucked out you are and they’d know you’re mine.”

“I thought we were running late,” Harry said. His voice had already taken on the dazed, deepened quality that it had when he was turned on. Louis smiled to himself as he slipped one hand into the back of Harry’s cummerbund to get him closer.

“S’not like they can start without me,” Louis murmured into Harry’s neck. He smelled amazing, even more amazing than usual. “I’m very important, remember?”

Harry huffed out a quiet laugh that became a gasp when Louis nipped at his favorite spot right below the sharp cut of Harry’s jawline. Louis kissed him again, slower and dirtier this time. Harry kept running his hands down Louis’ arms, down to his waist and then to his arse, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch Louis most. It was very distracting and also made Louis realize that there were too many layers of clothing between them. He tugged his own jacket down his shoulders because he felt like he was on fire and he needed Harry’s hands closer to his bare skin. 

Harry groaned and fumbled with the top two buttons of Louis’ shirt. He nosed into Louis’ collarbones, leaving a trail of kisses and gently biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

Louis hissed and backed Harry into the wall. Harry grunted with his mouth still attached to Louis’ neck. Louis laughed and rubbed the heel of his hand against Harry’s cock through his obscene black slacks. He was hard, just like Louis had known he would be. 

“Lou, please,” Harry breathed hotly into Louis’ skin. Louis wasted no time popping open the button of Harry’s trousers and slipping a hand inside, eyes widening when he hand brushed against Harry’s cock.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Louis remarked dumbly. Harry looked inordinately pleased with himself. “I knew I wouldn’t get through the night without getting my hands on you,” he admitted giddily. “Wanted to make things a bit easier.”

Louis was so in love with his boy that he actually felt dizzy with it, floaty and lost until Harry whined and pushed his hips forward so that Louis’ hand brushed against him again. He gave Harry a few dry tugs, enough to make him let out a destroyed little whimper that made Louis’ cock twitch in his pants. He leaned forward and gave Harry a filthy kiss, too much tongue and enthusiasm to be considered particularly skillful.

“Lube. Now,” he breathed onto Harry’s lips. Harry didn’t need telling twice; he stumbled toward the bedroom, practically tripping over his own slacks, which were pooled absurdly below his arse.

 

By the time he returned with a bottle of lube and a self-satisfied little grin, Louis had unbuttoned his trousers and was pumping his cock lazily. 

“What a sight,” Harry drawled, his eyes gleaming.

“Shut up,” Louis laughed, giving Harry a kiss and grabbing the bottle from him. Not everyone came apart as beautifully as Harry, all puffy red lips and tautly-drawn muscles and gorgeous little noises.

“You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Harry whispered, getting his own hand around Louis’ cock. “Could get off just watching you. Can’t fucking believe I get to take you home every night.”

Louis made a frustrated noise and used his grip on Harry’s hip to turn him around so he was facing the wall with Louis draped over his back. “Gonna fuck you so you can still feel me when we’re with all our friends tonight,” he whispered into Harry’s ear as he fumbled with the lube and palmed Harry’s arse and tried not to fuck into the cleft of Harry’s cheeks and just come like that. 

“Please,” Harry breathed with his forehead against the wall. “Want you so bad.”

Louis slicked up his fingers and gingerly slipped in two, scissoring them apart and thanking his lucky stars that Harry was already stretched out from earlier that day and that they’d stopped using condoms last month.

“Just—fuck, just get on with it already,” Harry gritted out, turning his head enough to kiss Louis’ jaw and then his lips, messy and desperate.

“Yeah, fuck, okay,” Louis murmured, then he pushed in and lost all ability to think or speak or breathe or do anything beyond fucking into Harry and nipping at his neck and feeling lost in how tight and hot and _good_ Harry felt around him. He buried his head in the crook of Harry’s neck and reached around to get a hand on Harry’s cock. Harry let out a broken moan that made Louis bite down on his shoulder because he had to be closer, had to be touching Harry _more._

Louis was going as hard as he could now, matching his thrusts with the pace of his hand working Harry’s cock. Harry was babbling nonsense now and Louis could tell he was close, knew from the shaky quality of his voice. 

“Fuck, Lou, so—fuck, so lucky to be with you. Wanna do this forever. Could never get tired of this. Love you so fucking much.”

Harry stopped talking but that’s because he was coming. He clenched around Louis as he rode out his high and Louis wanted to do this forever too, wanted to skip this stupid event and just take Harry to bed and see how many times he could take him apart.

He wasn’t going to last much longer, not with Harry so tight around him, still making whimperynoises every time Louis thrust into him. 

It was all over when Harry took Louis’ hand, the one that had been around his cock and sucked two of Louis’ fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of his own come. Louis cursed and spilled into Harry, feeling like he was being tossed head-over-feet by a tremendous wave. It felt a bit like dying and Louis never wanted it to end.

 

They spent the next few minutes kissing and giggling and lazily cleaning themselves up. 

“You get so sentimental when I’m fucking you,” Louis said, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth and tucking him back into his trousers. 

“Don’t act like you hate it,” Harry laughed, running a hand through Louis’ fringe and handing him his jacket. 

“S’one of my favorite things about you,” said Louis. “Makes me feel proper special.”

“You are proper special. My favorite person,” Harry said. He was beaming and his cheeks were pink and he looked like beautiful and debauched and Louis was going to marry him someday.

“Now zip up your fly so we can go get your award," Harry grinned. 

* * *

They were late, which was a surprise to literally no one. By the time that Harry and Louis slipped into the sumptuous ballroom of the Mondrian Hotel, their friends were already clustered at their table well into their first round of drinks. Harry didn’t care. When given the choice between punctuality and mind-blowing tuxedo sex, he’d choose the second option every time.

“Look who’s finally decided to grace us with their presence!” Niall said when he saw them. 

Liam rolled his eyes. “About time, arseholes. You do realize that you’re the reason we’re here, right Lou?”

“You can’t rush perfection,” Louis shrugged, gesturing down to himself.

“You look like you’ve just had a quickie,” said Zayn, making Harry blush and the rest of their friends howl with laughter.

Louis squeezed Harry’s hand and pressed a kiss onto his jaw before turning back to Zayn. “Oi, that’s fucking rude! You have to be nice to me tonight, remember? I’m one of the best and brightest in journalism.”

The whole table groaned. “Just because _The Guardian_ ’s kissing your arse doesn’t mean we have to,” said Niall. “Now sit down and start drinking, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Harry was pleasantly buzzed on expensive champagne by the time the awards ceremony actually started. He used it as an excuse to be extra clingy with Louis, which was hardly new. Niall, Liam and Zayn rolled their eyes and took the piss, but Louis didn’t seem to care. He kept patting at Harry’s hair and tracing lines on Harry’s leg through the fabric of his slacks and playing with his fingers as he chatted with the boys and mingled with other journalists who stopped by their table. 

He was shinier than usual tonight, glimmery blue-gold eyes and quippy anecdotes and crinkle-eyed, cherry red smiles. Harry felt lucky and happy and full.

Louis’ award was one of the last of the evening, and it was presented by James Corden, who had been his editor at _London Now._ James had left the newspaper shortly after Louis and he was now working at his own newspaper, which Louis frequently wrote for. It had taken a lot of time and a little pleading on Louis’ part for Harry to give James a chance after the _London Now_ fiasco, but he had eventually agreed to get pints with James and had been charmed against his better judgement. Now he and Louis occasionally babysat James’ three year old daughter, who was called Stella and was even more obsessed with Harry’s dogs than he was.

“Tonight I have the privilege to introduce all of you to this year’s best and brightest young journalist,” James began, his eyes gleaming as he found Louis in the crowd and tipped his glass. “At just 28 years old, Louis Tomlinson has written for _The Times, The Guardian, The Independent,_ and _The New Yorker._ He is one of the leading voices in British journalism because his writing is honest and readable and razor-sharp. But beyond being an immensely talented writer, Louis is brave. He fights to tell stories the right way and he admits when he’s made a mistake. He values journalistic integrity more than anyone else I know and that’s why he has done and will continue to do wonderful things in this community. Please join me in welcoming my friend and esteemed colleague, Louis Tomlinson.”

 

The room erupted and Louis kissed Harry, then rose from his chair to accept his award. Harry watched him and felt his chest ache with love.

He was going to ask Louis to move in with him. Tonight. Then they were going to get married, probably in Budapest on a whim or in Hyde Park at midnight or something similarly ridiculous. They were going to have babies and a fat, yellow cat and a cottage somewhere. He didn’t know when any of that was going to happen exactly, but he did know that Louis was it for him, the person who made him egg sandwiches in the middle of the night and held him after bad surgeries and knew him better than anyone.

When Louis had reached the stage, he gave James a hug, took his award and beamed into the crowd. His eyes immediately found Harry and he lit up even brighter. “Love you,” he mouthed, giving Harry one of his beautiful secret smiles. Harry blew him a kiss then laughed and leaned forward to listen to Louis’ speech for the fortieth time, feeling like he’d won the lottery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a “what what” for impractical tuxedo sex ?! I’ve had so much fucking fun with this story and I want to thank every single person who took the time to read it. Writing is so much more rewarding when it’s interactive and all of your comments gave me the inspiration to make it to the angsty, fluffy end. I will never not thank Kylie because she is my favorite reader and favorite human. Anna, you get a shout-out too, for your love of Harry’s pull shirt and pink scrubs. Kate, you helped me through the weeds of this one and you were the voice of reason for many of my more ridiculous plot decisions. Love you all, LEAVE COMMENTS !!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck) TRADUCCIÓN AL ESPAÑOL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223269) by [larrieloveslarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrieloveslarry/pseuds/larrieloveslarry)




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